The Other Side of Me
by BelieveItOrNot
Summary: Post-college, Edward and Bella help each other heal through the worst kind of pain inflicted by a close friend. A journey of trauma, healing, and survival. AH, Mostly E/B, Em/R, J/A take smaller roles. OOC Rated M
1. Chapter 1

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

This story comes with a **Warning**:

_The Other Side of Me_ deals with and explores the trauma and healing of acquaintance rape. The issues will be handled with respect. Still, some events, descriptions, and some of Bella's thoughts may be triggers for anyone who has been through a similar experience. I will post warnings in each chapter that includes details I think warrant a warning. This does remain very much an Edward/Bella story.

* * *

**The Other Side of Me**

The truth is, pain happens. We learn this from the first time we fall down and skin our knee, or bump our head, or scratch our own delicate newborn face because our sharp fingernails grow overnight. We hurt ourselves, we hurt others, and others hurt us. But sometimes… sometimes someone harms you in a way nobody should ever be harmed. Someone touches you in a way nobody should ever be touched. Sometimes, the person who wounds you the deepest is a person you once thought you would always trust, thought you would always count on, thought you would always love. And in one instant, you're different. You find yourself in a new body, new skin, a new mind. You're unrecognizable. Even the blood that pulses through your veins feels unfamiliar. You're trapped, as if in a prison cell. You can never get out. There's no escaping _you_. And that might be the worst kind of pain there is.

~::::::~

**Chapter 1**

"Bella!" He waved.

I'd spotted him first, the second I entered our coffee house, sunlight already pouring through the large wall of windows, illuminating the polished hardwood floor, weaving its way around shadows cast by tables. It was impossible to miss him sitting alone, leaning over a newspaper spread out in front of him, his head resting in his hand, fingers tousling his hair—a mix of deep browns and amber, and even copper. When he moved his hand from his head to wave me over, I touched the ends of my own hair, too long now, reaching the center of my back, and probably in need of a good brushing. All I'd bothered with earlier was combing it after my shower and letting it air dry. I instinctively ran some fingers through my hair to smooth it as I headed his way. My sneakers were noiseless on the floor, while other women rounding tables clapped against the ground in their pumps—off to the office after a quick coffee stop.

Edward watched me, all smiles and green eyes. I paused halfway to his table as some voluptuous red head, curls abounding, stepped to him wearing midnight-high heels at 7:00 AM. She slipped him her phone number. I didn't have to read the note to recognize what it was. This was not an infrequent occurrence. He tossed the note aside, standing to hug me.

"It's good to see you."

"You, too," I said into his shoulder. "James is running late. He called me five minutes ago. Said it would be worth the wait—whatever that means. I told him we'd be sitting on the edge of our seats awaiting his arrival." I pulled up a chair and picked up the abandoned note. "Victoria?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

Edward laughed. "You can throw it away."

"No, I can't. Don't turn around. She's looking right at me." I frowned. "Glaring, more like it. She's pretty, Edward." Then I grabbed his arm because he turned around anyway. "Stop that!"

"Oh yeah, she's beautiful making that face, isn't she?" He gave her a wave and we both laughed. "If she wants to stare, let's give her something to see," he said, facing me again. He took my hand, his green eyes fixed on my brown ones—as deep brown as the round table in front of us. He winked at me, a smirk landing on his lips for just a second before his face fell serious. Then he got down on one knee.

"I don't have a ring," he said, "but something like this can't be planned. I want you, Isabella Swan, to agree to spend the whole day with me. I promise to show you whatever it is you want to see in New York, but haven't had the time for. Isabella, will you tour the city with me for the rest of our Monday?"

"Oh, Edward." I batted my eyelashes, happy I had at least taken time to add mascara that morning. "There's nothing I'd love more than to spend the entire rest of my day with the man in front of me."

We stood up together, and he pecked my lips and hugged me tight, even lifting me off the floor a little. Or maybe I just couldn't feel any solidity beneath me because of the way that tiny kiss on my lips had thrown my heart all a-flurry. Surprised, even shocked, by that feeling, my fingers involuntarily neared my mouth when the applause of patrons around the coffee house snapped me out of it. I hadn't realized we'd drawn the attention of everyone in the place. Returning to my seat, I cleared my throat. Then Edward and I glanced at each other and burst out in laughter. We couldn't get a hold of ourselves until Maggie, our regular server, brought over my simple latte, one sugar.

"On the house," she said. "Congratulations! I didn't even know you two were dating." Last week when the three of us met here, she'd taken a seat at our table to flirt with Edward, and now, she wasn't even looking his way.

"Thanks," I said, unable to meet her eyes.

"It's new," Edward said, "but when you know, you know." He shrugged. She smiled stiffly at me and tilted her head, before turning slowly to Edward.

"I think it's great that you proposed to her here. It's just… great. Now we have a story to tell." She headed back behind the counter, rubbing her hands on her apron. I felt bad for her, almost felt like telling her the truth.

I sipped my latte, still so hot it burned my lips. I blew on it. "You ordered for me?" I asked Edward.

"I told Maggie that you and Jay were on your way. And since you haven't ordered anything different in what,_ four_ years? I think she figured it out all by herself. Enjoy your free coffee."

Edward was right; it had been nearly four years since he, James, and I had started meeting at this coffee house. We'd agreed to get together at least once a week. James had arranged today's rendezvous; he'd requested we meet early before he had to get to class, though he had yet to arrive.

The three of us first met during our five-day college-bound road trip from Washington to New York. Edward was the brother of my best friend, Alice, and James was an acquaintance of Edward's friend, Emmett. It had been Alice's idea for me to join Edward and James because she didn't want me traveling alone. James drove all the way from Seattle just to pick us up in Forks, only to turn around and head East again. Back then, Edward was returning for his third year while I was beginning my first year at NYU, and James had changed his major so many times that I think even he had lost track of what year he was in. He'd since dropped out of NYU to join the Culinary Institute.

"Hey, sorry I'm late." James, a bit out of breath, stood behind me in jeans and a white polo shirt, his blond hair pulled into a low ponytail that hung just past the end of his neck. This was his signature look. For as long as he'd had long hair, I'd never seen it hanging loose.

"James!" I stood to hug him. His arms reached around me and he smacked my butt.

"Hands off the goods," I said, pushing on him as hard as I could. He hardly budged.

"Try this," he said, stuffing something warm and soft between my lips. I had no idea what it was, only that it was in all probability the best thing I had ever had in my mouth. My eyes closed and I ignored all other senses so that all my consciousness could focus on the sweetness that seemed to tease each of my taste buds one by one. Strawberries and cream and an outer shell that was as light as air and sweeter than sugar. How that was possible, I wasn't sure, but I couldn't think clearly enough to ponder over it anyway.

"Mmm."

"Right?" said James. "It's canolli, but not any canolli—this one's mine."

"Oh my god, James." I sat down, lucky my chair was right under me because I still hadn't opened my eyes. "You have found your calling. Don't ever stop making these."

My eyes opened when I felt his breath in my ear. "Let's see if a way to a woman's heart is through dessert." He licked my cheek with the tip of this tongue.

"Ew." I wiped it right off.

"What do you mean, ew?" He took his seat. "Don't tell me you're not all tingly right now." He laughed.

"If I'm tingly, it's because of the canolli, not you." I kicked his leg under the table.

Edward cleared his throat. "You'll never learn, will you, Jay? Always taking your game a step too far."

"Shut up," James said, tossing a cannoli at Edward. He caught it, set it on the saucer in front of him, then wiped his fingers on his napkin. "It works on all the girls but ours. Any other girl."

"Our girl isn't any girl," Edward said. "You might have been getting somewhere with that cannoli, but then you had to go and, you know, lick her."

"You know nothing, Masen. Some women beg me to lick them."

And almost as if to prove James's point, Victoria approached our table. She leaned in front of James, her hair cascading over her shoulders, creating a frame around her cleavage, as if her breasts were a photograph and should be hanging in some gallery. I could have sworn I saw a streak of bronzer right between her boobs, an obvious attempt at accentuation.

"So, does this chick get all the gorgeous guys in this town or what?" she asked, motioning toward me without a glance my way. "I know they're engaged-" she pointed back and forth between Edward and me "-but what about you?"

James laughed. "Who's engaged?" I kicked him under the table again, same spot as before. He glared at me. "You have got to stop that, Little B." He turned back to Victoria. "No, I'm not… engaged. What's up?"

"Your friend has my phone number." She lifted her head as she spoke, showing him the curve of her neck, and then she brought her hand up along her throat and around to the nape of her neck where she toyed with some curls. I couldn't have flirted like that if I took hardcore lessons. I'd feel ridiculous. "Call me. Find out." Then she sauntered off, successfully getting James to ogle at her behind until she was out the door. I smiled when she wobbled on her heels a little bit.

James leaned toward Edward. "You turned that piece down? I'll take your castoffs. That is, if Bella still won't have me."

I tugged hard on his ponytail.

"Man, you are kicking my shit today. How many of those have you had?" He pointed to my cup.

I didn't answer, just sipped on my latte.

This was a sore subject between us. He had asked me out, all officially, two years ago and I had turned him down. And, as Dr. Seuss might say, he could not, would not let it go.

James leaned back in his chair, rocking it a little, and I had the instinct to tell him to stop before he fell over backwards. "Okay, the reason I wanted to meet here this morning—other than the fact that I wanted to see the two most important people in New York, aside from myself—is that I have my first catering job…"

I tried to listen to him, but he was babbling something about being important and I noticed that Edward's cannoli was still all whole and untouched on the plate in front of him.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" I asked.

"It's yours." He pushed his plate toward me.

"You don't want it? Are you insane?"

"It'll be worth giving it up to see that look on your face again."

I slid the plate over to my side of the table.

"Aren't you going to kick him?" James asked.

"Why? Because he wants to make me happy?"

"Because he wants to see that look on your face. You know what look he means don't you, Little B? When you took that first bite, you went all orgasmic and shit." I kicked James again, and both he and his chair jumped back. Edward laughed as James rubbed his leg.

"Edward, just take a bite," I said. I held it toward him. He leaned forward and bit into it, and his eyes widened before closing.

"So good," he said, mouth full. "Give me the rest."

"No," I pulled my arm back. "You said it was mine, and don't talk with your mouth full."

"That was before you made me taste it. Now give it back." He held his hand out, motioning with his fingers for me to give it to him. I held it back farther.

"Relax, I have more," James said, snatching a little brown bag from his backpack and waggling it at us. I reached for it but he held it away. "You have to hear what I have to say first. Without interrupting this time. Okay, children? Can you two focus?"

We nodded. He explained again that he had a catering job and he needed some help serving, and since he couldn't afford to pay anyone, he was sure his two best friends would be willing to help him out.

"You can pay us in canolli," I said, proud of my suggestion.

"I can pay you in a lot more than that, Little B." He raised his eyebrows up and down a few times.

"Okay, I'll help you if you promise no more of that winking, eyebrow dancing, licking my face stuff. Or butt grabbing! No more lewd gestures or touching of any kind that is inappropriate between friends."

He just looked at me, smiling.

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. No more after today. You too, Masen. I promise not to touch you inappropriately."

"You keep your promise to her, and I'm in, too," Edward said.

"Cool. I gotta get to class now. Little B, are you going home? We can split a cab."

"Um, no. I have plans." I looked at Edward. "Edward's taking me touristing today."

"Touristing?" James frowned. "Nice grammar for a writer."

"Creative writer. I'm allowed to make up words."

He stood up and gestured for me to come over and hug him. "If you're going to make up words, make them good, hun." We hugged. "Aw, come on, one more ass-grab for old time's sake?" I yanked on his ponytail again. "All right, all right, it's just a joke. See ya, Masen. Take care of our girl." He reached out to give Edward a sideways hand slap. "Next Saturday, seven o'clock. I'll text you kids with the address later. It's at some rich bastard's loft."

Edward leaned toward me after James was out of earshot. "So, we're going _touristing_? You really want to go?"

"Well, you did get down on one knee. How could I refuse?"

"Okay," he nodded, "all right. What am I in for? What haven't you seen in New York?"

I began my list: "The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, the Museum of Modern Art, A Broadway play…"

"Wait." He sat up straight. "Wait a minute. Are you serious? You've lived here for four years and you haven't seen any of the most basic attractions?"

I shrugged. "College student."

"Or Jay and I have been assholes. We should've made sure you experienced more of the city than rooftop parties, bars, and restaurants."

"I've experienced the city."

"Yeah? What have you seen?"

"This coffee house, Wall Street, Rockefeller Center, Central Park, the Gay Pride Parade, the West Village, the East village-"

"You live in the Village. That doesn't count."

"Oh! And I've been to a Knicks game. They didn't win; it wasn't pretty."

"You've seen the Knicks?" His eyebrows lifted, his forehead wrinkling up. "How come I didn't know about this?"

"It was a date. I don't talk to you guys about my dates."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "It's embarrassing. Plus, James gets weird. He gets jealous. Anyway, you don't talk about your dates either."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that."

"What is it?"

He shook his head at himself as if regretting his comment. "Okay, come on." He stood up, shoved his hands into his jean pockets, and motioned with an elbow for me to join him. He announced that we'd start with the Empire State building, but because the Museum of Modern Art was a higher priority than the Statue of Liberty and because of time restraints, we'd just take a ferry past the statue. We exited the coffee shop and Edward waved a taxi over.

"No way can we see a Broadway play tonight-" he held the door open for me and followed me into the cab "-but how about Shakespeare?" He leaned forward to address the cab driver. "Hey, you know what days Shakespeare in the Park plays?"

"Tuesdays," he said. "Where you headed?"

"Tomorrow night," Edward said looking at me. "Empire State Building," he said to the driver. "Does tomorrow work for you, Bella?"

"Sure."

"And tonight, well, I know exactly what we can do tonight."

~::::::~

An American flag, huge and reaching, was strewn like a banner high overhead across the entrance of The Empire State Building. We entered the elegance of the lobby, five stories high and striking us with colors of coal, bronze, and gold. My mouth was agape as I took in the beauty, the art of it. It was as if Edward and I were walking right through a piece of art, and as my eyes scanned the building, I realized that was exactly what was happening. For now, we were a part of this art. Everything was marble, granite or stainless steel, and a metal mosaic, a replica of the building, stretched the height of one wall. The inside was so noticeably clean it couldn't be missed. It was part of the experience. It gleamed. I wondered how many people it took to clean the lobby alone.

The lobby was already buzzing with tourists when we arrived at about a quarter after nine. It may have been a Monday morning, but it was also late May and vacations had begun. We waited in the forty-five-minute-long line, following the zig-zag aisles barred with vinyl ropes. The tourists around us were strangely quiet, or maybe Edward and I were just too wrapped up in our own conversation to notice other noises around us.

"Hey, you know, I went to your graduation last week," Edward said as we moved along the line at a slow, even pace.

I believe my mouth dropped open. "You did? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to interrupt you and your family. Congratulations, though."

I frowned. What had he meant by that? I didn't have a very big family as it was, and my dad was the only one of them who attended my graduation. My mother, perpetual-single-woman by choice that she was, couldn't be bothered to fly out to New York to watch her only daughter walk the stage, though I had sent her an invitation.

I reached through the darkest tunnels of my mind, dust-ridden and cobwebbed, for the last happy memory I had of my mother. I couldn't come up with one. Not one. Family didn't mean much to my mother. That was evident in the way she'd fled cold, wet Forks, taking off for hot, dry Phoenix, leaving both my dad and me when I was only five. At night she was there to wish me pleasant dreams without a glance up from the small, tattered book in her hands; by morning she was gone, one duffle bag missing, and my dad and I never could figure out what she had packed in that thing because her closet and drawers were still full. Her book, marked at page 147, still sat on her nightstand. I remembered taking that book to my room when my father wasn't looking. I hid it and saved it and even brought it here to New York with me.

I was unconvinced that my mother even truly knew what family was or what it meant. To her they were people she maybe shared some DNA with, maybe they somewhat resembled her, or maybe a small portion of her life was spent with them, but my mother was her own family. The rest of us be damned, she would take care of herself.

"Interrupt my family?" I asked. "You mean my dad?"

"And that other guy. He had black hair; he kept his arm around you."

"Oh, Jacob. I've known him forever. You should've said something."

"I don't know." He gave me a slight smile. "I wasn't really invited, but I felt like I should see you walk, you know?"

I smiled back. "Well, thank you. I would've invited you. I just had no idea you would want to be there. Graduations are so boring."

"And you'll be starting graduate school when? In August?"

I nodded. I'd been accepted into the creative writing program and had already taken some graduate courses, ahead of the game. "It's real-world avoidage for me. I'm afraid I may end up like James and never stop going to school."

"I doubt that. You've got ambitions, Bella. Jay likes to live on a cloud, one created and paid for by his father."

I shook my head. "He doesn't want to live under his father's thumb. And I think he's really found something with this culinary institute. He's even got that catering job next week. That's huge progress for him."

"Maybe. Maybe it's real this time."

I smiled. "I think it is. The way he talks about it is different than he's ever talked about anything."

Edward gazed down at me for a moment, a smile just at the corner of his mouth. "You seem proud of him."

"I am. If he's finally found what he wants, then I am. But you, I mean, your job is ideal. Not many people can spontaneously take a Monday off."

"It is ideal," he said. "I have a meeting tomorrow, so I have all night to work on my presentation. The art is done. I finished it right after they gave me a copy of the story. It's a story about nature and seasons written in a series of Haikus. It's actually really beautiful poetry, and inspiration came easily after one afternoon in the park."

~::::::~

A couple of years back, just out of college, Edward fell easily into the world of advertising, or as he preferred to call it, "fucking-people-over-big-time." His responsibility was to land clients by convincing them of their need for print advertising.

"The smaller businesses, they can't afford it," Edward had told James and me over dinner, refilling his own wine glass for at least the fourth time. "We promise miracles like we're Santa Claus delivering magic on Christmas Eve. And these people, these small business owners, they just want to succeed so badly, they buy into it."

_Look at these successful businesses we've helped build_, he'd tell his potential client, offering a portfolio of beautifully presented magazine spreads. _Amazing, isn't it?_

And then he'd show them his three top clients—Fortune 500 companies that could actually afford heavy advertising. The proof was in the pudding.

And then Edward likened the advertisements he was selling to pudding.

_Looks good—I prefer vanilla, simple,_ the client would say.

_But the elaborate chocolate is so much more effective. It's more expensive, of course, due to the extra ingredients and fancier packaging. But really, it's the way to go._

_I'll take the chocolate. Where do I sign?_

Edward felt like he needed to trade his advertising career in for teaching elementary school or the likes, just to give back something positive to the world. Replace what he took from it, and add a little more, maybe. He did the next best thing his natural talent and art degree could do for him. He became a children's book illustrator for an independent publishing house, making half as much money as he'd made in advertising.

"But it's an honest living," he had said. "And at the end of the day, I'm okay with looking at my own reflection." Maybe he didn't have complete creative freedom, but it was certainly more creative than racking his brain for fresh ideas and new ways to convince people to spend money on services they didn't need, nor would they benefit from.

~::::::~

It was our turn to get into the elevator. A group of us piled in, standing tense, arms snug against our sides, trying not to touch the strangers nearest to us, but as tightly as we were all packed in, it was hard not to. The elevator lifted, and began the longest ride up I'd ever experienced. Whenever I thought for sure we were there, it kept going. On instinct I looked up as if I could see through the top, see the end. But of course it was just the roof of the elevator.

Once at the top, gazing out windows, I saw how near-perfectly aligned the streets were. Straight rows of buildings heading on and on, separated by car-filled roads—though the cars were barely seen from this distance. They were toys, Matchboxes. On the other side was the Hudson River, so quiet, so calm, I almost forgot where I was. I was floating over waters, over building tops, hard and cold and grey, but as beautiful as clouds from here.

"I wish I had my camera," I said.

"Yeah, we didn't exactly plan for this, did we?"

Edward had a plan though, and a schedule so that we could fit everything in he'd promised to show me. Next was the ferry. We bought an overpriced disposable camera before ascending one of the escalators to the rooftop deck of the terminal. We waited on a bench for the next ferry and I noted how much time was spent waiting compared to how much time was spent actually experiencing the attractions.

The toes of my shoes scraped back and forth along the deck.

"When I was little in Forks, my dad used to take me out on the lake," I said. "We had to cross the dock to get to the slip he rented for his boat, but the slits in the planks were wide, and the catwalk bounced on the water with each heavy step my dad took. I used to be afraid I would fall through."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know, four, maybe? The first few times, my dad carried me across because I screamed and wouldn't move. But after a while he said that was just ridiculous and I had to see that falling through the slits was impossible. He said I could either stand still on the shore and wait for him or walk across the dock with him there holding my hand. And I wasn't allowed to scream. So, I walked across. I was terrified, but I did it anyway because being left alone on the shore was even more terrifying."

"Did you ever fall through the cracks?" Edward laughed.

"Not yet," I said.

* * *

Let me know what you think. Feel free to ask questions. :)


	2. Chapter 2

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 2

The downtown skyline shrank away as the ferry swept toward Staten Island. After I took a few pictures of The Statue of Liberty, Edward and I sat and rested in silence watching the water. There weren't very many people around us, and some were doing exactly the same thing we were; just there to travel to and from Staten Island, blink at the statue, but not enough time to stop. A few tourists held video cameras in front of their faces. One couple asked Edward to take their photo. Their embrace was captured on film, preserved forever, while the two of them dropped their arms and stepped away from each other the moment the photo was snapped.

I drew my journal from my bag to write down some of the highlights of my morning, write a description of the warm wind on my face, lifting my hair and twisting through Edward's. My sunglasses protected the wind from my eyes, but Edward had to squint and blink it out of his.

"What are you writing?" Edward asked.

"About today," I said. "I like today. I want to remember it."

"You ever leave home without your journal?"

"I hate when I forget it. It's like I forgot to get dressed. I have to find napkins to write on or something, anything."

"I'm that way with my sketchbook."

"I know," I said. "But you don't have it here." I'd rarely seen him without his backpack over his shoulders, his sketchbook and tin of pencils inside.

"Because I thought I'd head home after coffee this morning. But it doesn't matter. I haven't missed it. My mind has been well-occupied."

I looked up at him, his small smile.

Outside the Whitehall Ferry terminal, the sun beat down on us as we waited for a taxi. I lifted my hair to cool my neck.

Our next visit would be The Museum of Modern Art, and since we had to head back up to midtown, Edward took me to a restaurant along the way to break up the distance. It was a sushi place with outdoor seating, and we ate our lunch at the river's edge. The air was growing increasingly hotter, and there was barely any movement. Had I planned on a day out like this, I would have worn shorts.

"I don't know about this," I said, after my plate had been placed in front of me. I lifted it, turned it, let it drop. Maybe my lunch would look more appealing from a different angle. The change didn't seem to help. I'd had sushi rolls on many occasions. They were familiar enough. The rice, of course, was fine too. But those other shapes on my plate, the sashimi... I poked at the pink thing with a chopstick. It was bouncy. "It's uncooked. Is that safe?"

He laughed at me. "Just try it."

"I will," I said, though I didn't make a move to take a bite.

I pushed my sunglasses onto my head because, while dining, I preferred to look at people as we spoke. It felt more respectful. But with the sun cutting into my eyes, I squinted. Edward wasn't wearing sunglasses either, and the unfiltered sunlight brightened his eyes, just as it did the river. His eyes were exactly like the river here, but more vibrant.

I opened my mouth to tell him how pretty his eyes were, but caught myself. It was an odd feeling. A simple compliment to an easy, longtime friend made me nervous.

"Your eyes are so beautiful," Edward said.

I laughed.

"Why is that funny?"

"They're just brown."

"There's no such thing as _just brown_. Yours are really light right now. They look like gold."

"Thank you." I looked away from him self-consciously, as if what I was truly feeling inside—feelings I couldn't quite make sense of myself—would be exposed through my eyes.

"Is it strange that I said that?" he asked.

"No, not at all. Believe me, not at all."

An employee took an umbrella stand, rolling it on its edge, and stood it near us, then raised the umbrella. Finally we had shade.

I turned my attention to my plate, once again contemplating the pink, slimy looking globs, thinking about pretending to try it. Maybe I could distract Edward and throw it into the river. I was sure worse things had been thrown into that river, but he was looking at me with this smile on his face like he knew I was up to something. He wouldn't look away, even as he ate. So, I caved. I followed Edward's lead, picked a pink one up with chopsticks, dipped it in soy sauce, and tasted it, expecting to have to hide a gag, but I was pleasantly surprised by the flavor.

"It's good, actually."

"You hate it," he said.

I laughed and shook my head, taking another bite. "No, really, as long as I don't look at it or think about what I'm eating, it's good."

"Would you come back here?" He poured me some more Sake.

"Of course. And not just for the Sake."

Water lapped and my eyes drifted toward the river. There was a low, wrought iron railing encasing us in the dining patio, protecting the clumsy ones or the little ones from falling over the edge into the water. The railing was hardly noticeable under the green-leaf vine growing up and around it, like a thousand arms twisting and swirling in an effort to hide the dark heaviness of the railing completely. The leaves moved easily in a barely felt breeze, too warm to cool anything, and my eyes found their way back to Edward.

I took a moment to look at him, smiling at me when our eyes met, taking another sip of his drink. Edward, my best friend's brother. I hadn't thought of him in that way in three years. He'd become my friend, one of my bests, him and James. But this was the first time in all the years we'd been friends that Edward and I had hung out for a long period of time without James around. We'd never had the chance to really talk, just the two of us. I'd felt as comfortable as I always had with Edward earlier that morning, but as the day progressed, so did my discomfort.

Why was I this nervous?

I dabbed at my face with my napkin, ran my tongue over my teeth feeling for stray food pieces. Something in our dynamic was changing, and it was nearly tangible. I could almost reach out and touch it as easily as I could a leaf on that vine. I wondered if he felt it too, this change. Or maybe my imagination was running rampant. I spoke to keep my mind off of whatever this difference was.

"Edward, why don't you talk about girls you date? You avoided answering earlier."

He stopped chewing, swallowed, and placed his chopsticks on his plate. He let out a little nervous laugh.

"Be straight with me."

His smile slowly faded, and he wiped his mouth with a napkin, his eyes unfocused on anything, and I knew he was in thought.

"Okay, Bella… you're—we've been friends for a long time and... I respect you. I just, I have a ton of respect for you, you know?" He replaced his napkin in his lap, and sat back in his chair. "But I avoid serious relationships, so anything I'd have to talk about… let's just say that I wouldn't want to offend you."

I nodded, and smiled, hoping to let him know that I was grateful for his honesty. "Fair enough." The problem with me was, I couldn't help but press him further. "But how disrespectful are you to these women?" I eyed him, wondering if anything he'd say could change how I felt about him, dilute the respect _I_ had for _him_.

He shook his head. "Don't get me wrong. I make sure the girls I date understand that I'm not into, or um, looking for a relationship."

"You wouldn't take advantage?"

"No."

"I didn't think so," I said, and took a sip of my Sake. "I was ready to give you a lecture though, if you'd answered differently."

"Jay," he said. "He's the one you'd want to lecture."

"Oh, I have. I definitely have."

"Me too." Edward smiled. "Your turn," he said. "Who's Jacob? From your graduation." He sipped his Sake, his head tilting back, his gaze remaining on me.

"Jake? We go way back." I shrugged. "We used to-"

"Date?"

"Well, yeah, we dated through high school. Up until graduation. But I was going to say, play together."

Edward raised his eyebrows.

"When we were kids! There was a loose board in the fence behind my house. We used to sneak through it and run around in the field behind it. Once, it started raining while we were out there. Usually we'd run home, but that day we stayed anyway, sliding down the hills in the dirt that had slushed to mud. By the time we got home we were both covered with it. My dad was due home soon and we didn't want to get in trouble, so we took a shower."

"You took a shower with him?"

"We had all our clothes on; we were trying to clean them. It didn't mean anything—god—we were only eleven. But we did clog the drain so..."

With a low laugh, Edward rubbed his forehead. "So, you broke his heart? Poor guy."

I looked at my hands, fingers linked in my lap. I pulled them apart.

"Nope. The other way around. Jake broke up with me. He wanted to start seeing this other girl from La Push. He said he was _drawn_ to her. Said he couldn't explain it."

"Sorry." Edward looked at his plate and pushed some rice around. "I never would've guessed that."

"Don't worry about it. That was a long time ago. I still question whether I really loved him or if I was just used to him. I was definitely sad when he broke up with me, but I got over it and never felt like I wanted him back. We've been able to remain really good, platonic friends, mostly because my dad loves him. I think they're closer than Jake and I ever were. It's pretty funny when I really think about it. When I think about everything Jake and I did together, and then to think that he now hangs out with my dad."

"Was he your first, um…"

"Edward!"

"Kiss?"

I shook my head and threw my crumpled napkin at him. He caught it and laughed.

"Yes," I said. "He was my first everything, okay. My first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first, first, first."

"He's an idiot to let you go." Edward was looking right at me, the slightest curve to his lips, and it seemed like he really meant it. All I could do was look away and answer in sarcasm.

"You're telling me," I said.

Jacob and I, we really had spent much of our childhood together. It only seemed natural to take the next step with each other. The first time he kissed me, we were fourteen. I followed him through my fence and down the hill alive with ferns. We were out of sight from my house. Even if my dad had been peering out the second story window he couldn't have seen us. The only creature watching us may have been the oversized orange cat sitting at the top of my fence, but even he seemed to be busy bathing his bushy fur, a hairball possibly building in his stomach.

Jake turned around so abruptly that I almost knocked right into him, and he kissed me. It was fast and wet, and I didn't feel anything special. I always thought first kisses were supposed to be really something. So I placed my hands softly on his shoulders and leaned in; we were practically the same height back then. I tilted my head like I'd studied the girls on TV, and I pressed my lips to his and just waited. I stood there with my lips on his until his lips started moving against mine. Little by little we discovered, then taught each other, how we liked our kisses. We'd guide the other's head or demonstrate what we liked with our tongues until we got so good at it that Jacob thought kissing just wasn't enough.

"This is strange," Edward said, pointing a chopstick at me. "It's like we know each other, but don't. I know the New York you, but I have no idea about the Forks you. The little girl who was afraid of falling through docks but snuck through fences and took showers with boys."

"One boy," I said, and then I considered his statement. By now, my friendship with Edward had spanned longer than the two years I'd been friends with Alice before I moved away, but I had little idea of who he was before New York. Their family had moved from Chicago to Forks at the beginning of my Junior year. Edward was already in college, so I'd never met him. He came home during the summer, but at that time I was in Phoenix visiting my mother. Or staying at her house, anyway, while she was off gallivanting around with some man, leaving me on my own. She always apologized, though, giving me her justification that she'd married too young and she needed to make up for it before she got all old and wrinkly. I wanted to tell her that she'd been divorced for twelve years and already had plenty of make up years under her belt, but, of course, I didn't say that. I just read books or wrote stories and tried to find ways to keep cool. It was harder to keep cool in Arizona than it was in New York in the summer.

I looked across at Edward. "Let's go see some art and you can tell me about _your_ first love."

"Art, yes; love, no." He tossed some cash on the table and held out a hand. His palm was warm and smooth, and when I imagined linking fingers with him, I let go, slipping my fingertips into the back pocket of my jeans.

"What do you mean, _love, no_? I told you what you wanted to know."

"I mean there's no love to talk about. I've never been in love." We left the quiet of the river behind, heading toward the busy street.

"There must be somebody," I said.

"You don't know what it was like having Alice as a sister. She drove all the girls away."

"Sweet little Alice?"

"Sweet Alice. Right. She was rude to any girl I brought home. In high school, back in Chicago? My prom date came over for dinner. I know at prom you usually go out to dinner, but my mom had to cook for us. I'm sure you know how she likes to be in control."

I nodded. Alice had done her share of complaining about her mother. Her mother was the reason Alice didn't have a boyfriend all through high school. She had to invent lies just to go to school games or parties because boys would be there. She was granted a reprieve for prom but had a strict curfew, and her mom insisted on meeting the boy well ahead of time. Mrs. Masen had cooked our prom dinner, too, so I could picture her cooking for Edward in her apron, her long dark curls, and her pink, smiling lips that hid any agenda she might have in manipulating her children's lives.

"Yeah, so I wonder where Alice gets it," Edward said. He told me that all through dinner, Alice kept eyeing Katie until Katie finally asked what Alice was staring at, and Alice said she wasn't staring at anything. She was just wondering why Katie had chosen that particular dress with her particular body type. "I almost choked on my steak. Katie looked at me like she wanted me to defend her, but I didn't know what to say. And Alice was kind of right; it wasn't the best looking dress. It was this bright teal color and had one of those—I don't know what they're called—where the waist is way up here?" He held his hands just under his chest.

"Empire waist?'

"Yeah, but it had all these layers from there down. She looked pregnant."

We both laughed. "So, did you say anything?" I asked. "To make her feel better?"

"I told her she looked fine."

"Fine?" I stopped where I was. A man in a suit walked swiftly by us, his briefcase squeaking at his side. "Not pretty or beautiful or sexy?"

Edward turned to face me. "Well, that wouldn't have been true, would it?"

"But Edward, it was _prom_."

"Sorry, Bella, all I said was, 'You look fine.'"

I couldn't help but laugh again. "I think you're more at fault for sabotaging that relationship than Alice."

"I know. It wasn't good. She wouldn't talk to me. I had to kiss her ass the rest of the night. I don't even think she smiled in the pictures."

"So, wasn't there any girl who prevailed over Alice?" I tried to picture Alice with her doe eyes and pixie cut being rude to anyone, and I just couldn't imagine it. She was always so bubbly around me. Sometimes too bubbly. She was friends with nearly everybody in our high school.

Edward started walking again and I fell into step with him. I could hear the roar of cars on the street, though they weren't in sight yet.

"Tanya came the closest. She held her own. But we were older. I dated her my first year of college and brought her to Forks for a week in the summer. Alice wasn't as bad as she used to be, but she still made it clear that she didn't like Tanya. She told me that I could do better while Tanya was in the room. Tanya came over to me and put her hand on my chest. She told Alice that maybe she was right, but I had chosen her anyway. Alice gave up after that. She told me later that she knew Tanya and I wouldn't last so she let if fade out on its own."

"Did it fade out?"

"It just ended. She tried to move in with me. She didn't even ask, she just literally started moving in. She brought her stuff over, a little more each day, and then she announced that she was subletting her apartment. So I did the only thing I could do."

"Told her not to sublet?"

"Broke up with her."

"Oh, of course." I frowned at him. "That only makes sense. I wonder if some guy is telling her right now that _you_ missed out." I pointed at him.

"Let him."

~::::::~

Our tour through the Museum of Modern Art was fast. We only had two hours to follow the white walls brightened by color on canvas, or to take in the occasional sculpture or piece of architecture. People became ghosts here, barely noticeable as they inched along, taking their time, standing still, posed and gazing. It was an immense open place, but as quiet as a library.

Edward was like a little kid here—adorable the way he pulled me past the art he didn't really care for, and up escalators, all enthusiastic to get to his favorites before the museum closed. He'd look at the painting, then look at me looking at the painting trying to gauge my reaction. If he didn't think I appeared excited enough about the piece, he'd explain what he loved about it. Of course he liked the surrealism and the abstract pieces the most; those were his niche, what he painted at home in his free time. He said that everyone took something different away from it, and he couldn't quite fathom the possibility that no two people saw the same thing, that a lot of a person's perception of these pieces came from life experience. That was when it was my turn to watch his gaze.

"It's philosophy you can see," he said.

"Edward, I don't think I could have appreciated this place so much with anybody else. You love it here. We're coming back sometime."

"Oh, no Bella. I mean we can come back, sure, but, girl, this is New York." He held up his arms as if we were standing right in the middle of it, the entire city surrounding us, and in truth, we were. Standing here in midtown, art all around us, and then belted snugly by constellations of buildings and cultures, all of it triangled by rivers. We were in the center of it all. "There is so much more art to see than what is right here."

I wanted to hug him. I had never felt more compelled to put my arms around him than right then. I locked my hands behind my back, clasping my fingers to fight the urge. I smiled at him, and that's when he put his arm around my shoulders, effectively demolishing my will-power. Both of my arms wrapped around his waist and I squeezed, dropping my head to his shoulder, then hid my disappointment when we parted.

A painting caught my eye as Edward was trying to swiftly pass it. It was oil on canvas by Edouard Vuillard. I stood still and stared at it for a moment. There was a woman, part of her clothing the same pattern as the wall she seemed to be peeling herself out of. I pointed at it. "This reminds me so much of one of my favorite short stories. Charlotte Perkins Gilman."

"What is it?"

"_The Yellow Wallpaper_. It's about a woman going through depression, who's basically forced to live trapped in a room. She convinces herself there is a woman struggling to get out from behind her disgusting wallpaper. Sometimes it's one woman, other times it's several women, and in the end, it's her."

"Haunting."

"Exactly."

He stood still and quiet behind me, allowing me to take in the painting a bit longer.

"Edward," I said. "Thank you for the tours and the sushi and art. I know it was just a joke at first, but I really had a good time."

"We're not done yet, Bella. There's one more place I want to take you." I let him lead me outside to the edge of the street, where he hailed a cab, and then directed the driver to some uptown address.

It was simply called 'The Lounge.' Inside, the lighting was dim and the walls were a deep gold, as were the velvet booths. It was still early, so Edward, the bartender, and I were the only ones there. We ordered cocktails, and then Edward asked if I would be okay alone for a minute.

"I'll try to manage it," I said. I thought he must have had to go to the bathroom, but instead of walking toward the restrooms he headed to the piano and started playing. I knew he could play, knew he'd minored in music, but I'd never actually heard him play before. It was so beautiful that I almost wondered if he was really the one playing, or if it was one of those self-playing pianos. I decided that just as he had asked me to list all the places I'd experienced in New York, I'd have him list all the things he couldn't do, because that list would certainly be shorter than the list of things he could do.

I went to the piano and sat with him on the bench. "Wow."

"Thanks." He spoke without missing a note. "I work here, you know? A few nights a month, I come and play. Just, don't tell James. I don't need him showing up here and getting wasted and starting a fight."

"Don't worry," I said. "I won't tell him. Yeah, this place is a little too classy for liquid Jay. Even if he does make the best desserts known to human-kind."

"Those things were good this morning, weren't they? Do you still have them?"

I patted my bag. "Right here."

We decided the only thing to do then was to return to our booth and eat every last one of the canolli. They were a little melted and squished but still as delicious as ever. We didn't even have to eat dinner because we filled ourselves up with dessert. There was no room left for anything else.

"Bella, why do you think we've never talked like this before? We always talk about what's keeping us busy here, or just joke around, but we've never really talked about who we are."

"I think that's obvious."

"You do?"

"Yeah, one word, James. Whenever we get into any sort of 'real' conversation, he cracks some joke or changes the subject with sarcasm."

He laughed. "You're right, completely obvious. Even on our drive here, you were telling us about your mom leaving when you were little, and he asked if she was as hot as you." We both laughed at that memory but then his face relaxed into a serious expression, and he looked at me until my laughter faded into self-consciousness.

"What?" I wiped at the corners of my mouth just in case.

"How about you two? You ever hang out without me?"

"A few times. Not a lot, though. You were almost always there. Sometimes he just turns up at my apartment and says things like, 'I have to go to the library and you're coming with me,' or 'I have a date, help me find a shirt.' And one time he had me go to dinner with him and his dad because James can't stand to be alone with him. I made sure he understood it wasn't a date because… well, because."

"I bet he wished it was a date."

I sipped my cocktail instead of answering.

I knew that Edward was aware of James's mock-flirting with me, but I wondered if Edward knew that James had seriously asked me out a few times. I was running out of kind ways to turn him down. The first time he asked, two years ago, I thought he was joking. We were at the library and he pulled a book from the shelf, opened it, and without looking away from it he said, "We should go out for real—dinner and a movie."

I laughed. First of all, I couldn't imagine his hyper ass sitting quietly through an entire movie, and second, I thought it was just more of his sarcastic humor. But I knew something was up when he didn't laugh at his own 'joke.' He always laughed at his jokes.

"James?"

He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. His finger drifted down the aisle, over the spines of the books. He didn't answer me.

"I think it's best if we stay friends. We shouldn't complicate things."

He was quiet, too quiet for James. He found the book he needed, silently checked out, and then walked me to a cab. He didn't say goodbye or get in with me, but he did pay the guy, finally speaking to tell the driver where to go. The next time I saw him was at our coffee house with Edward, and he was his regular goofy self again, making fun of me for missing out on the "good stuff."

"You're quiet," Edward said.

"Just thinking about how fast life or relationships can change. You can be as comfortable as ever just the way things are, not even looking for anything different, and all of a sudden, you wake up one morning and everything, everyone is different. Like when my mom left. My dad wasn't himself anymore. It seemed to take forever for him to get his sense of humor back, and he would force his smile around me. Even at six years old, I could tell the difference between his forced smiles and his genuine ones. His genuine smiles were so far and few between. It's just sad."

"Yeah, but not always. I mean some change is good." He put his hand palm up on the table and gestured with his fingers for my hand. I placed my hand on top of his and his fingers enclosed mine. "Like this," he said. "Us, together, without James. It's completely different, but I can't think of anyone I'd rather be alone with right now."

My breath caught in my chest. He had never said anything like that to me before, never held my hand like that, never rubbed my knuckles with his thumb like that, or looked into my eyes quite like he was just then.

I closed my eyes, his thumb still moving against my hand. I wanted his fingers to keep touching me, move up along my arm. "I know what you mean," I said.

"Bella?"

I opened my eyes and waited for him to speak, but nothing came.

He sighed, letting go of my hand. It rested alone in the center of the table. "You ready to go?" he asked.

I said I was, even though it wasn't true. I wasn't ready to go home, be away from him. Not yet. But I couldn't say that.

On our way out, I noticed the place was getting more crowded and some of the people, I guessed they were regulars, knew Edward. They nodded or shook his hand as we passed by.

"You and your secrets." I nudged his side with my elbow. He put his arm around my shoulder. I made a mental note to remember that a little elbow-nudge gets an arm wrap.

"No more," he said. "That's my only secret. Other than piano at The Lounge, I'm an open book."

~::::::~

Edward asked the taxi driver to wait for him while he walked me to my door. Well, really, he walked me to my steps because my apartment was on the first floor, which actually meant slightly underground. I thanked him again and turned to head down the steps.

"Bella?" he said. I turned around.

Again, just like at The Lounge, he didn't finish his thought.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" I took a step toward him.

"Sort of. I wanted to try something, if it's okay."

"What?" I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but still my heart rate picked up.

He placed his hand on the side of my shoulder. "Earlier today, at the coffee house…" he inched closer "I thought I felt…" his breath was warm on my face "...something." His lips touched mine.

"Wait."

He let go of me, his hands fleeing to his pockets. "I'm sorry. I thought…" He looked at the ground.

"No, it's just—you're Edward."

"Yeah," he smiled, his face still down, but his eyes lifting toward me. "And you're Bella."

"You were about to kiss me."

"I'm aware of that, yes."

"Don't you think things could get weird between us if we kiss?"

"I don't know, since we haven't kissed yet." He took my hand in his. "But things don't have to get weird. They could get better."

"That's true."

"So do you want to? Is it worth the risk of weird to find out?"

"I think so."

"You think so? So should I um, kiss you?" He rubbed his eyebrow. "Or not?"

I nodded. "Kiss me."

He brought to my cheek, and he leaned toward me again. I tried to close my eyes, but they were stubborn, locked on Edward's eyes. His were closed. And his face was so close to mine, I let out a quiet gasp.

"Wait," I said again.

"Bella..." His hands fled from me for the second time. "If you don't want to, it's fine."

"It's not that, I swear. But can we make sure things don't get weird? If this kiss isn't what we expect, can we make sure our friendship doesn't change?"

"I promise, it won't change on my end. We've been friends for too long to let it go over one kiss. But to be honest, this…" he pointed back and forth between us "...what's happening now is getting a little weird."

"I'm sorry. I've ruined the moment. It won't happen again. You can kiss me. I won't stop you this time."

"I don't believe you. My ego's been squashed about as small as it can get in one night." He touched his thumb to his index finger to show me just how small his ego felt.

I closed my eyes, and then I let out an exasperated sigh. _Now, my eyes closed_.

"Edward…"

"It's okay, Bella. It's fine."

I looked up at him. "I spoiled our night."

He shook his head. "You didn't. Not at all. It just... it wasn't meant to happen, I guess."

I looked down at the cement, all the gum that had become a part of it over time, black and gray splotches now.

He lifted my chin with a finger. "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "Shakespeare tomorrow?"

I nodded.

He smiled and I couldn't help but smile back. "Go on inside," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow.

I walked down the steps into my apartment, my fingers on my lips. The lips that could have been on Edward's, but instead, they were so empty I could feel the nothingness on them, they throbbed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

myimm0rtal is my amazing, supportive, and fast as ever beta.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 3

My apartment was at the bottom of a red brick building on East Twelfth street between First Avenue and A. When I moved in with Jessica, back in 2005, the smattering of small bars and restaurants along Avenue A had recently grown, as had their popularity. Regular drinkers around those parts tended to smoke, and the "no smoking" law had patrons filing outside to brown their lungs. But drunk people outside, late at night, meant a few roamers taking off in search of excitement. Crime had picked up. My first March in the city, while some were anticipating the St. Patrick's Day parade and others were dreading it, our neighbors were met with a break-in at their apartment. James heard about it and insisted that Jessica and I stay with him for a night while he made sure we had a better lock installed. He installed it himself.

James chose to live alone in a one bedroom penthouse apartment in the West Village. It was very high-tech looking, lots of metal and aluminum. Even the stairs and the second floor walkway from his bedroom to his bathroom were metal, and seemed to be suspended from the high ceiling by heavy cables, though I couldn't tell if this was just an illusion. It was certainly solid and stable when I walked around up there. The apartment was wide open, everything easily viewable while standing in the living room. He was proud of his large, stainless steel kitchen, bigger than his bedroom. His plasma television hung like a framed photograph on the wall facing the sofa.

"Spinach pierogi from downstairs," he said, placing the bowl on the counter, and then spooning it out onto our dinner plates. He took a seat on a bar stool next to Jessica. "I don't know why you two have to live on the first floor," he said. "I'd sleep better if you moved up a level, you know?"

"It was affordable." Jessica shrugged. "We only pay $1600 a month."

James whistled. "For that place? That's a good ass fucking deal."

"That's what I'm saying," Jessica said. Jessica had only met James and Edward a few times, but whenever they were around she spent much of her energy and breath in an attempt to trap James in conversation.

"But not if your place is raided and everything ends up gone," James added.

Neither Jessica or I had a response to that.

James gave up his bed that night and let Jess and I share it while he slept on his sofa, one black, furry blanket over him. Jessica hugged him and we both thanked him before heading to bed.

She followed me up the stairs, her boots heavy and clomping against the metal.

Lying under the comforter, Jessica asked me if I thought James liked her.

I turned and faced her—swept some hair behind her ear. "Jess, he likes you, yes, but not in the way you want. He doesn't like anybody in that way. I don't think he can be monogamous."

She sat up on her elbow. "I don't care about that."

"Are you sure?" I may have only known her for seven months, but that was more than enough time to witness the way she clung on to guys, even those who weren't that interested.

"Sometimes I wonder, you know? What he's like in bed. He's so incredibly sexy. Don't you ever wonder? I wonder what he would do if I went back down there and got under the blanket with him."

"Jessica, don't do that."

"Why not? Because you want him?"

"No." I shook my head. "No, I just think it would be best for you if you stopped wondering. I really do."

"Why would you say that about your friend?"

"He's a good friend," I said. "But he's not a good boyfriend. I'm being honest because you're my friend too. I don't want you to get hurt."

~::::::~

Now, just when I needed Jessica the most, she was away visiting her family for the month. Clothes were strewn about my room, dresses halfway on and halfway off my bed, a camisole and skirt on the dresser, jeans on the closet floor. I had no idea what to wear to Shakespeare in the Park. After going through everything twice, maybe three times, I ended up in jeans and a tank top—no different from any other day. But every time I'd tried on a skirt, I felt overdressed for something that had the word "park" in it. This was exactly the kind of thing Jessica would've loved to have helped me with. She'd get a high from it. But she was gone, paying no mind to the fact that I was having my first real fashion crisis in my entire twenty-two years of life. I plopped myself down on my bed, sitting on a pile of shirts, skirts, and pants.

_I've never stressed over what to wear around Edward, so why should I start now?_ I began returning my clothes to hangers.

When I answered my door at 6:00, Edward stood there in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Perfect," I said, relieved that he was so casual.

"You too," he said. He kissed my cheek and I relaxed, forgetting that I had nearly hyperventilated over clothes. "Are you already ready? Let's get a cab."

"You didn't have yours wait?"

"Bella, you're a woman. I didn't expect you to be so... punctual."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, frowning, awaiting his answer.

"That sounded bad." He lifted his fingers to his forehead and he held them there—tapped a little, as if tapping could bring the right words to mind. "What I meant to say was every date I've ever been on, I've had to wait for the girl. I'm just surprised I don't have to wait." He may have continued talking, but my brain stopped working at the sound of the word _date_. I smiled.

"What?"

"Get a cab," I said, turning to lock the door.

Shakespeare in the park was _The Taming of the Shrew_. Tall gray brick turrets and cobblestone paths gave the feeling that we were actually outside an Italian villa. Looming, full trees in Central Park became a natural part of the set. The play, the stage, the park, all of it, so beautiful. I wasn't sure this wasn't better than a Broadway show. We sat in one of the back rows, where Edward pulled a bottle of red wine from his backpack, corked it, and poured it low, well hidden, into plastic cups. We sipped it before the play started.

Throughout the play, I found myself staring at Edward. He turned and caught me looking a few times. He didn't say a word, just stared back.

The sun set during Act 4, Scene 3, and the last words from Katherine's lips before the sun reined in the last of its light were:

_The more my wrong, the more his spite appears:_  
_What, did he marry me to famish me?_  
_Beggars, that come unto my father's door,_  
_Upon entreaty have a present aims;_  
_If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:_  
_But I, who never knew how to entreat,_  
_Nor never needed that I should entreat,_  
_Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep,_  
_With oath kept waking and with brawling fed:_  
_And that which spites me more than all these wants,_  
_He does it under name of perfect love;_  
_As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,_  
_'Twere deadly sickness or else present death._  
_I prithee go and get me some repast;_  
_I care not what, so it be wholesome food._

I know this because, even though the lines and actions were filled with hilarity, I thought that Katherine's acknowledgement of her mistreatment was beautifully timed as the day went from sienna to violet, so I wrote down her lines to preserve the moment. By the time I'd ended with the period, night had been pulled down like a stage backdrop. As I slid my journal back into my bag, my eyes met Edward's. He raised his hand to his hair, his fingers raking through it. When I found myself wishing that was my hand in his hair, I looked away, back at the stage.

~::::::~

His hands in his hair. That was how he'd stood, under the August sky, the first time I saw him.

As Alice and I pulled up to their house, there was just a sliver of sun bending its way through all the trees. Edward smiled when he saw us, brought his hand down and waved. Alice had given me a lift since James was meeting us at the Masens' house that morning. I had bid my father goodbye twice already—once the night before because he was getting up at the crack of dawn to go to work, and a second time at the crack of dawn because I was already awake in a concoction of nerves, sadness, and excitement all at the same time.

"Pop the trunk," Edward called to Alice, and he was pulling my bags out before I even had my car door open, before we had even officially met.

"I'm Bella." I tried not to sound as nervous as I felt. He was so good looking, it was hard to look directly at him without blushing or stuttering.

"Edward Masen," he said, taking my hand, smiling eyes penetrating mine. As soon as he smiled, shook my hand, and spoke, my nerves disappeared, blew away on the wind into the trees. There was such a warmth to him—his voice, his smile, his touch—I felt instantly at ease.

"Nice to finally meet you, Bella. Alice never shuts up about you."

"Funny," I said, "she rarely mentions anything about you."

Alice interrupted our laugh. "I can't believe you two haven't met. Seriously? My two favorite people. How is that possible?"

Edward and I just shrugged. "We're meeting now," I said.

"Sure, now that you're leaving." She wrapped her arms around me, squeezing my breath away. "What am I going to do without you? Don't go, Bella. Come to San Francisco with me. Don't go all the way to the other coast. You're going to get all rude. You know they're rude there."

I told her it was a little late for that and that I promised not to turn rude. She sighed and let go of me as a big, yellow Escalade growled its way up the hill.

"I didn't know they came in yellow," I said.

"With the right amount of money they come in any color," Edward said, brushing his thumb and first two fingers together in a sign for money.

The big yellow thing barely stopped before hitting us. We all took quick steps back and James exited his car laughing. He didn't have his low ponytail back then. His hair was cut short, close to his head. He actually looked clean-cut, which was misleading. The longer hair certainly suited his personality better.

"Look at that. Sexy does exist in Forks." When he smiled, one of his eyes squinted more than the other. It was a little bit charming and a little bit devious. "Which one of you delicacies is Isabella Swan?"

"Bella," I said and held out my hand. He didn't take it. He stepped forward for a hug.

"Sex in cutoffs. I like it." he said when he released me, slipping a finger under the frayed edge of my shorts and tugging on it. I slapped his hand away, taking a step back, bumping into Edward, nearly tripping and falling on my ass, but Edward caught me.

"Whoa," he said.

"Just kidding," James said. He laughed and turned to Alice. "So, you must be..."

"Alice," she said as Edward moved between them and simultaneously said, "My sister."

"Relax, Masen." He reached around Edward to shake Alice's hand, but instead he brought the back of her fingers to his lips and winked at her. Edward shook his head.

"This is going to be a fun drive," I said, my voice flat.

"Hell yeah, it is." James grinned, completely ignoring my sarcasm.

Edward and James grabbed our bags and tossed them in the back while Alice and I hugged goodbye.

"Edward!" Alice called. "You watch out for Bella. She thinks she's tough, but this is _New York_ we're talking about."

"If it's okay with Bella, I'll watch out for her." He looked at me.

"I don't know anyone there, so yeah, I could use an extra set of eyes."

"We'll both look after her," James said. "Now hop in. Daylight's burning."

I didn't bother reminding him that it was barely 9:00 AM as I started for the car.

James stopped me with a hand out as I began my way into the backseat. He opened the front passenger door for me. "Entrez, mademoiselle."

I tried to argue that Edward would be more comfortable in the front since he was so much taller.

"There's a lot of room back there," James said. "Our girl sits in the front."

I stared at him, surprised at his chivalry. It was so unexpected; I hadn't guessed he was capable of it. I knew then, that wouldn't be the last time he'd surprise me. I turned to Edward, who held an arm out and nodded, agreeing that I should sit in the front. I climbed in, deciding that our road trip might not be so bad after all.

~::::::~

Admission to Shakespeare in the Park had been free, but they sold t-shirts and sweatshirts afterwards. Edward bought me a sweatshirt that was a little too big because they only came in one size. I put it on to show him the size was fine.

"See," I said, holding out my arm, the end of the sleeve dripping off me. "My hands fit all the way inside the sleeves to keep me extra warm." But then I had to take it off because, even with the night nearing 10:00, it was just way too hot in New York in June for a sweatshirt. As I lifted the sweatshirt, it caught the bottom of my tank top, pulling it along. I spotted Edward's glance at my bare stomach, and I tugged the shirt down.

His eyes met mine. "Sorry." He laughed and shook his head, embarrassed.

The sky was dark and vast, no moon, the only lights around us those of the stage. We followed the tree-lined path through the quiet park toward the street. I stopped before the street was in sight and faced Edward.

"Emptiness like this is so rare in this city. Such quiet." A wind blew through the trees then, shaking the leaves, disrupting the silence.

"There's quiet here, Bella. You just have to know where and when to look."

"Yeah," I said, "but quiet in this city is ominous."

"Let's go." Hands in his pockets, he nodded a head toward the path, and I fell into step with him.

In the cab, we reminisced over the play, how the acting had emphasized the humor in it, bringing near-constant laughs from the audience. It seemed only minutes had passed when we pulled up alongside parked cars in front of my apartment. The only time I ever walked out of my apartment and not seen cars parked out front was in the early morning, early enough to still hear the birds.

Edward asked the driver to wait for him again while he walked me to my steps.

"Goodnight, Bella," he said.

"Goodnight." But I didn't move to go inside and he didn't move to get in the taxi. "Goodnight," I said again.

"Goodnight." He laughed and took my hand. "Tomorrow. I'm sure we can think of something to do tomorrow." Light from the lamppost slanted down his face, only brightening half of it, the other side hidden in shadow.

"Okay. I have to work, though. I don't get off until ten."

"I'll come visit you at work. I'll bring you dinner." He still made no attempt to leave or drop my hand.

"Um, your cab's waiting."

He nodded. "I know, but… doesn't tonight feel… unfinished?"

I smiled and felt my cheeks heat up. "Edward, do you want to kiss me?"

He sighed. "That depends. If I do, will you stop me again?"

"No, I promise I won't."

He took a step closer to me, a hand moving to my waist. "You kiss me," he said.

I looked into his eyes, brought my arms up around his neck, stood on tiptoe and gave him a light kiss on his lips.

"See?" I said.

He nodded, eyes closed. "Again."

I kissed him lightly again, and this time, he fisted my shirt, pulling me closer. Our lips moved together slowly at first, then picked up speed and strength, and when I felt his tongue, I was relieved he was holding me because I don't think I could have stood up. I would have sank to jello on the ground. I held tighter around his neck, my fingers in his hair. I arched my back and he leaned toward me, his arms wrapped around me, one hand at my neck under my hair.

"Wow," I said, accidentally.

"Yeah," he said, still kissing me.

"Did you feel it too?" I whispered when our lips parted, our faces centimeters away from each other.

"Fuck, yeah, I did." His eyes were still closed. "I've been waiting all day to feel that. I want to feel some more." He kissed my lips, my tongue, my chin, along my throat to the back of my neck, behind my ear, my jaw, and I could barely breathe or I was breathing too hard. Either way, there wasn't enough air for what he was doing to me right on the street as the taxi driver waited. And then he was back on my lips. Edward moved his hand from my waist, fingers feeling their way under my shirt, tickling my ribs, stopping at my bra and then fingertips just under the edge of my bra. I pulled back. I don't know how I did it, but I did. It took all my strength, and some I didn't know I had, to step away from him.

"That's all you're feeling tonight," I said, still out of breath, and we both laughed. I loved his laugh. The way he smiled with his whole face. His eyes, his eyebrows, even his chin seemed to smile. As nervous as I'd been around him lately, this was so easy. And as I thought about it just then, things had been easy between us since the moment we introduced ourselves. He could always make me laugh without even trying. We had the same sense of humor, the same views of the world, and as it turned out, possibly the same views of each other.

"On the street..." He shook his head at himself. "Sorry, Bella. I wasn't thinking. I couldn't think." He smiled again, covering his eyes.

"It's okay. My thoughts were not exactly coherent either." I pulled his hand from his face and held on to it, trying to ground myself because my mind was still somewhere in a haze of Edward, somewhere in our kiss.

"Edward, really, thank you for the last two days. This has been the most fun I've had in a long time."

"Me too," he said, my hand still in his.

I turned to descend my steps.

"Wait," he said, keeping hold of my pinky. "Um… one more kiss? I promise I'll be good. No hands." He held them up to prove he meant it. I stood on tiptoe, held his T-shirt at his stomach and reached up to give him the kiss he asked for. It was impossible to say no. I wanted it, too. He kept his _no hands _promise. I thought he could've at least held my waist, my shoulders, my face, but he didn't.

"Good night," he whispered in my ear, then kissed it.

He headed for the cab but turned around when he reached the car door. I was still standing there in a daze, staring at him. "You're addicting. I can't leave," he said.

I walked over to him, kissed him again, and opened his door for him. "Get in," I said.

He got in and I bent down to kiss him one more time. I nearly fell into the cab with him or maybe he was pulling a little. We both laughed while we kissed. I shut his car door, hit the top of the cab like they do in movies, and headed for my apartment. I heard the cab drive away but didn't turn to watch it go. I couldn't.

~::::::~

Edward went to Little Italy for a big linguini pasta salad and brought it to the market for us to share. He said that it was better to have something cool on a night as hot as this. We faced each other sitting on crates in the back storage room as we ate, Edward holding the salad on his lap.

This was our third night together without James, and if this continued, which I was hopeful it would, I'd have to tell James. I had no idea how I'd go about that or how he'd take it.

The night in the library when I turned James down wasn't the last time he asked. It happened again the Saturday he showed up at my apartment last spring, nearly ten months ago. He took my hand, pulling me along with him, requesting, or demanding, that I help him find a new shirt for his date. We walked a few blocks to a men's clothing store, the clothing designed and sewn in New York. He searched through the racks, picking up shirts, giving them a once over, then returning them.

"If you were going out with me, what would you want me to wear?"

"It doesn't matter. You know I don't care what you wear."

He placed the hanger back on the rack without taking his eyes off me. "Are there more like you?" he asked. "Because I've met a lot, _a lot_, of women, but none come close to comparing to you, Bella."

"I don't see what's so different about me. I'm just me." I shrugged.

"And that's exactly it," James said. "You have this way about you, this acceptance of people. It's hard to explain, but your acceptance or even your support and honest fascination with other people's interests, other people's quirks, it… it feels good just to be around you. Edward and I have talked about it. Being around you, there's nothing else like it."

"James," I said. "I don't even know what to say to that. Thank you."

"It's true, Little B." He brought his hand to the clothing rack and leaned against it. "You know what?"

"What?" I smiled.

He reached out and touched my chin. "If you said you'd go out with me, I'd drop my plans. With anyone, anytime, I'd drop them for a chance with you. If you'd just give me a chance, Bella. Be my date tonight. An official date, not a hang out."

I looked down at the floor, down at my tattered sneakers, and then at James's nice shoes, the bottom of his black pants, already partially dressed for his date. What would it mean if I went out with him? The only thing I saw in him was a friend. Even the thought of kissing him didn't appeal to me. If I agreed to a date only because I didn't want to turn him down again, only because I didn't want to hurt him, wouldn't that give him false hope? Wouldn't that hurt him more in the end? I looked up at him, met his questioning, almost pleading eyes.

A woman came between us, smooth dark arms reaching for a shirt. James took my hand and led me around to the other side of the rack.

"I think you're afraid. Because we're friends. Don't be. Come out with me."

"I-I can't go out with you, James. You're right, it is because of our friendship. I want you as my friend. Always."

Relief swept through me when he smiled. "I'll always be your friend, Little B, you know that." He sighed and looked down at my waist, his hand coming to my hip. "But I'm not, I'm not going to give up on you." His hand lifted up, pushing at my shirt until his fingers met my skin. "One of these days, you'll see it. You'll see what we have."

I moved his hand away. "James."

He laughed. "Okay, pick a color, any color."

Now, sitting across from Edward, shoveling lettuce, tomatoes and pasta into my mouth, I wondered how on earth I would explain to James that though I wasn't willing to give him a chance, I'd given Edward that chance. Would James understand or would I lose him as a friend? Was losing James as a friend something I was willing to do to be with Edward? I couldn't find an answer to any of my questions.

"What's wrong?" Edward asked, pausing, fork in his hand, midway to his mouth.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about what's happening between us."

He let his fork fall to the carton, then removed the salad from his lap, placing it on the floor. He took one of my hands in both of his. That simple gesture felt so good. I felt it in my stomach, like quick butterflies flickering through my body and then gone.

"I like what's happening with us," he said. "I don't want it to stop. But are you okay with it? Because if you want to slow down or-or stop, just say the word."

I looked at him, frozen for a second. Would it be that easy for him to stop?

"What?" he said, "You want to stop?" He shut his eyes and his mouth seemed to tighten.

"I don't want to stop or slow down." I shook my head. "That's not it."

His eyes opened and mine were waiting. Minutes of silence must have passed between us.

"Bella, I'm going to level with you here. Whenever we've hung out in the past, after you were gone, you've sort of lingered in my mind, like I could still feel you near me, but nothing like last night. I thought about you _all _night. And this morning. And all day. I even called our assistant Bella. Her name's Sandy. I just think you should know where I am."

"I thought about you, too."

"Yeah?" He smiled.

"All night and day."

"This," he said, pointing at me and then himself. "It feels real, doesn't it?"

I nodded.

He smiled and nodded, too. "Good." He leaned over to kiss me.

After we ate, Edward waited around at the market for me for three hours. He kept the boredom away, kept me laughing. He took out his sketchpad and when I had a customer, he would sketch something about the interaction. Once it was my hand holding change over someone else's hand. Another time it was just the top of someone's head and her nose as she looked down, searching her big purse for her wallet. The customers would notice him lurking, glancing up at them and then back at his sketchpad, working the pencil. It seemed to make them nervous, make them shift and fidget.

When my shift ended, we walked the short distance from the corner market to my building across the street. Nearing my apartment, we passed a group of girls, all mismatched in height, but matching in black mini skirts and heels.

I turned toward Edward before heading down my steps, expecting a kiss this time, wanting one and not feeling uneasy about it at all. He put a hand on my back, pulling me close, kissing my lips. It was another goodnight kiss that should never end. Against my lips, he whispered, "What is wrong with us? We could have been doing this the whole time."

"The last four years," I whispered back.

He groaned at that thought.

"Edward, do you have to go? Do you want to come in?"

"Is that okay?"

I laughed. "Well, I think it is since I just invited you. It's just that…"

"What?" He swept his thumb over my cheekbone.

"I don't want to sleep with you. Have sex, you know? Not yet. If this is real between us, we can wait right? Take our time? Be sure."

He turned his head, looking down the street. I kept my eyes on him, and when he turned to me again, he said, "I can respect that, Bella. I promise."

In my apartment, we made out against the wall, Edward's hands in my hair. And then on the sofa, lying and facing each other, he drifted his hand up my shirt toward my breast, and I wanted it there. I tilted my head back and his lips fell to my throat. He moved his hand under my bra, the strap digging into my back because of the stretch, but I didn't care. I let him touch me until I felt such a want for him that I longed to be touched by him everywhere. I had to push his hand away to ground myself, gain my senses back. His hand fell down my side, my waist, over my hip to my thigh and he pulled my thigh over him. I felt his want for me through his jeans.

"God," I said.

"Too far?" he breathed, lips at my neck.

I shook my head and then I nodded.

"Which is it?" His breathing was heavy, his mouth lowering toward my chest.

"I'm not… I'm not going to want to stop. I don't want to stop," I said.

Edward pulled back some, but didn't let me go. "I'll stop," he said. "I don't want to either, but I will."

He sat up straight on the sofa and pulled me in close and just held me. His heart was racing.

He stayed until after two, when we both began to fall asleep against each other.

"You can sleep here," I said.

"I can't sleep in the same bed with you. It'll be too tempting to touch you. It'll drive me out of my head."

"You could sleep on the sofa."

"Bella." He brought a hand to my face. "I don't think you get it. I want to be near you all the time. If we're in the same apartment, but different rooms? I'd never be able to handle that."

I nodded, understanding what he meant, feeling it, too.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He kissed my temple and then my lips before he left.

We spent time together every day. Whenever we weren't working, we were together.

Each night, I wouldn't let him get any farther than second base because apparently I enjoyed not only torturing Edward, but also myself. And when my self-restraint failed, Edward's had to be strong enough for the both of us. And that, _that_ made me want him even more.

I just thought that what we had was special and something we should take our time with. And by take our time, I mean I held out all the way until the following Saturday night before I gave myself to him completely.


	4. Chapter 4

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 4

After work at the market on Saturday, I rushed home with barely enough time to shower and dress for the James event. I wore a short, straight black skirt and a white button up shirt—the uniform of a catering server. I had to wear my sneakers, though. I didn't want to trip over heels and ruin everything for James. I threw my hair, still wet, into a ponytail and in my rush, spilled the contents of my makeup bag onto the bathroom tile. Luckily the contents only included lip gloss, a powder compact, eyeliner, and mascara.

There was a knock at my door before I had a chance to clean up the small scatter on the floor. Edward stood there in his white shirt tucked into black slacks and a matching tie, holding up a bottle of wine, the sun behind him lightening his hair.

"Wine?" he asked.

"Absolutely." I left the door open for him and ran back into the bathroom. "How much time do we have?" I yelled even though the bathroom was only a few feet away from the front door.

"We have to leave in fifteen minutes. We're taking a taxi."

"I know. I know. You hate the subway." I penciled my eyes, dabbed some mascara on my lashes, and just before I glossed my lips, Edward handed me a glass of wine through the open bathroom door.

My heart slowed down after just one warm sip. "Why am I nervous?" I left the bathroom and joined him about six feet away in the kitchen.

Leaning against the back of the sofa, facing the kitchen, Edward looked over at me and laughed. "I have no idea. This is Jay's thing." He stepped to the table and grabbed the wine. There was only enough room for two at that table and it hadn't been sat at since Jessica left.

"I keep picturing myself dropping a tray on Rich Bastard."

"I can actually see that happening," he said, refilling the one-third of my glass I'd sipped. I hit his arm playfully and some wine spilled to the wood floor. "I wouldn't recommend doing anything like _that _at the party, either." He reached for the towel hanging on the stove to wipe the spill.

"Sorry."

"Bella, why are there splotches of paint all over your floor?"

I shrugged, and took a sip of my wine. "The two guys who lived here before us were artists. There's paint everywhere. Even some on the walls. I don't know what the hell they did with their paint, roll in it?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," he said, tossing the soiled towel on the counter.

"Thanks," I said, and kissed him, because how could I resist? He had just cleaned up my spill and given me quite a view of his backside at the same time. We both felt for the counter with our glasses and placed them down, so our hands could roam where they wanted His were under my shirt, up my back. Mine were around his neck, in his hair. His hair. My fingers loved it there. I rubbed through it at the nape of his neck, and then kissed his throat. His breathing picked up.

"B-Bella…"

"Yes?" I licked his throat and finished with a kiss.

His eyes opened, glazed and gazing at me. His voice was a whisper. "We have to go. I don't want to go. Let's cancel. James would cancel on us, wouldn't he?" He pulled me closer, back to his lips.

"No," I said against his lips. "No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't let us down like that."

He sighed into my mouth. "You're right." He pulled away, turned around, leaned against the counter, and took another sip of his wine, or mine. He hadn't even looked at the glass he picked up. "Unfortunately."

We finished our wine and I turned to rinse the glasses in the sink. I felt Edward's lips on the back of my neck, and fell forward against the counter, glass scraping against the ceramic of the sink.

"I like when you wear your hair like this." A finger twirled my ponytail and then grazed the back of my ear. My eyes closed.

"And I like your ears," he said.

"My ears?"

"Yeah, they're cute."

I faced him. "I have cute ears?"

He nodded. "I'm going to get you earrings."

"Really?" I smiled. "No guy has ever bought me earrings before."

"What kind do you like? Do you like the long ones, or the little round ones?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I've never thought about it. When I wear them, they're usually studs. Simple, I guess."

"You've never thought about earrings?" He frowned at me.

"Edward, jewelry isn't the only thing on a girl's mind."

"Well, I've never dated a girl quite like you. But, if you're not going to help me out, whatever I get you, you have to wear."

"Of course I will."

"And I've never bought earrings for any girl before." He took my hand and kissed my lips. "We have to go."

The event was a private art show, which, as it turned out, wasn't in a loft, but an Upper West Side penthouse in a huge towering building that made the two trees in front of it look like weeds. Gold trimmed the edges of every door. I stayed as far away from Rich Bastard as possible, save shaking his hand upon entering. The back of his hand was hairier than his head.

"Edward," I said in the kitchen the size of my apartment, with granite countertops and deep cherry cabinets. It was such a formal kitchen I was afraid to touch anything—didn't want to even leave a fingerprint on anything. "Let's switch trays. I'm scared."

He took my tray of champagne and handed me the tray of hor d'eourves. Then he kissed me, holding the tray without spilling one drop.

"Look at you showing off," I said.

"I'll stop if you want."

"Never." With my free hand, I pulled him by his tie back to my lips. He set the tray down, his hand falling to my leg. He lifted my leg at my knee and let his hand drift up under my skirt toward my panties. But when we heard the doors swing open, James entering, Edward and I jumped away from each other. That surprised me. We had _both _jumped back. Not just me. I eyed Edward. He was straightening his tie. Was he as worried about revealing our relationship to James as I was?

"Thanks for doing this for me, kids," James said. He was wearing a white apron, and adjusted the tie in the back. "Seriously, I don't know what I would have done without you. Hey! Little B, _your_ job is champagne. Pretty girl plus champagne equals more drinking, more money spent on crappy art, more 'James, come back for my next event.' Don't you understand math?" He took our trays and switched them back.

"I'm afraid of tripping or spilling on people, or worse, spilling on the crappy art."

"Have some faith in yourself." James squeezed my shoulder.

I looked at Edward. He raised his eyebrows. "Just one foot in front of the other, Bella."

"Fine." I put the tray down and removed four of the glasses. "If I'm going out there with these, I'm taking no more than four glasses at a time. I'll do more rounds, but that's just too damn bad."

They both laughed. James picked up one of the discarded champagne flutes and took a sip.

"Drinking on the job, Big Jay?"

"You know it, Little B," he said and lifted his glass to me. I glanced at Edward. He hadn't taken his eyes off me, which made the hairs at the back of my neck and on my arms tingle. I pushed backwards through the doors, then turned around to face the crowd, took a deep breath and a slow walk, careful not to tilt the tray at all. This serving stuff was stressful. I missed my simple job at the corner market, where people wore sneakers instead of thousand dollar heels and were always in a rush to get out, get away from you. Here people lingered, and even set an empty glass on my tray when I wasn't looking, throwing me off balance. I managed not to spill.

Well, not on anyone but me. I had a glass at the end of the night, and it dribbled down my chin to my chest. Edward handed me a napkin and I dabbed at my shirt. He wore an amused smile, and even though I was a little embarrassed and slightly irritated that he thought it was funny—or maybe even expected it—I smiled back.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go check out the art."

The living room where the art was shown was long and set up like several lounges, different seating areas with smooth gray loveseats and boxy but full-cushioned chairs. Each seating area had its own set of end tables and a coffee table. The place appeared even bigger when it was void of people. I wondered what it was like for Rich Bastard when he was alone here. I wondered if people in huge apartments like this felt even lonelier when the place was empty.

Edward and I followed the paintings hung at eye level along the walls, bright in color on a background of black. They were all abstract pieces.

"Is it really crappy?" I asked him.

He put an arm around my waist. "If this is crappy, my work is utter shit."

"Well then, this must be absolutely amazing," I said.

"I'll put it this way: if Rich Bastard asked me to show my art here, I wouldn't hesitate."

James came up, draping an arm over my shoulder and clearing his throat. "Don't let Rich Bastard hear you calling him that. You'd never get an invite."

"How many pieces sold?" Edward asked.

"Eight. Yeah, so that's about eighty-thousand dollars. Not bad for one night, eh? I could put in a word for you, Masen. But I don't know if Rich Bastards really trust the words of their caterers when it comes to art. Although my food, it's art, wouldn't you say, Little B?"

"Definitely," I said. "It even tastes like art would taste, I assume." I looked at Edward. "Will you excuse us? I want to talk to James for a second."

Edward hesitated, looking down at me. "Sure." He took James's hand, removing it from my shoulder. "Congratulations on a success, Jay," he said, shaking his hand. Then he continued his walk through the art.

"What's up?" James asked.

"I'm really proud of you. I think you've found yourself. Your place in the world."

"About damn time, right?" He smiled.

"There's just something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

"Look at you," James said. "Your eyes. What you have to say to me, it's good."

"I think so."

"Finally," he said. "So, I find my place in the world and you finally see the potential in me? In us."

My eyes widened. I took a shocked step back. This was not where I imagined the conversation heading. "No, no, James. That's not it."

"Not it?" His eyes narrowed and then saddened. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "What's it going to take, Bella? Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. Whatever it is."

I turned around, looking over my shoulder at Edward, who seemed entranced by a piece of art.

"Wait," James said. "I get it. Now isn't the time to talk about it. I'll come over, bring you the canolli I promised and we'll talk, okay?"

"Okay," I said, turning back to him. I no longer had the strength to tell him about Edward and me. He was on too much of a high from the night and too hopeful for what it may have meant for us. James and me.

We made our way to Edward.

"I still have clean up to do," said James. "You'll see our girl home?"

"I came with her," Edward said, taking my hand but not linking our fingers. "I'll leave with her."

After our kiss in the kitchen, Edward and I hadn't chanced a kiss the rest of our evening at the penthouse, so by the time we were alone in the backseat of a cab, we couldn't keep our mouths off each other.

"Your taste like champagne," Edward said.

"So do you."

"I want to know what your tongue tastes like." I opened my mouth for him and he moaned. "Mmm." He kissed along my jaw to my ear. "And your neck." He tilted my head to the angle he wanted and gave me a slow lick and a kiss until I _mmmed_, too.

Neither one of us noticed that the taxi had stopped until the driver cleared his throat. "Here," he said.

Edward and I pulled away from each other, somehow surprised that we weren't actually alone. I saw him reach into his pocket, but I stilled his hand. "No," I said. "I'll pay this time. You always pay."

He tried to argue with me, because _taxis are expensive_, but I wouldn't back down. I reached forward, offering the driver a twenty. He raised his eyebrows at me.

"You two have a fun night," he said. "Looks like you're planning on it."

Edward and I left the cab, laughing at ourselves. I covered my face.

Edward took my hands. "Don't be embarrassed. That sort of thing, and worse, probably happens every night."

I don't know why, but that embarrassed me further.

Inside, we finished off the wine he'd brought over earlier. We sat on the sofa sipping and talking and then just staring at each other. His finger came to my neck at the collar of my shirt and he gave a gentle rub back and forth.

"Bella, there's something about you. I can't narrow it down to just one thing. It's the whole package. The whole you. I can't get enough."

I set my glass on the coffee table, determined not to spill on Edward, and I kissed him. I was on my knees, above him, just trying to give him the kiss that said I couldn't get enough of him either. His hands met my waist and he pulled me onto his lap.

"Why didn't we notice this before?" I asked.

He traced the back of his finger down my cheek. "I noticed you were beautiful the minute you stepped out of Alice's car on the day we met. But you were Alice's friend. Off limits. I shut you out as anything other than a friend the second I saw you. Whenever we were together, I was careful not to cross a line I may not have been able to come back from."

"I shut you out as anything more than a friend in my mind, too. You _and_ James. James asked me out a few times, but I turned him down because I didn't want to risk messing up our friendship. And the more he asked, the more I knew I wasn't interested. I wonder if I would've turned you down if you had asked. I mean, really asked, before the tour proposal at the coffee house. Before that kiss."

"Let's pretend you wouldn't have turned me down." He kissed me. "Please." He kissed me again.

"Let's pretend you would've asked, eventually," I said, but I was growing tired of interrupting our kisses. "Let's not talk anymore."

He showed me how much he agreed with me with a breath as deep as his kiss. His hands were at my waist but not under my shirt. I wanted to put them there and was about to when he broke our kiss. He brought his fingers to the top button of my shirt and held it, looking at me. I didn't say anything and he unbuttoned it, still looking at me. His hand fell to the next button and he hesitated again. I still didn't say anything and he unbuttoned that one, too. He brought his hand to my throat and his eyes followed as he drew a straight line down my chest until his fingers caught the third button just at the bottom of my ribcage, and he fingered that one too, hesitating again.

I broke our promise of silence . "It's okay, Edward. I want you to."

His eyes met mine and he unbuttoned the rest of the way down, pushed my shirt off my shoulders with both of his hands, and pulled me close to kiss my shoulders, my collarbone, and all over my chest, over my bra. There was a wave through my body that I felt with every kiss, and it warmed me and chilled me at the same time, and left me wanting so much more. His arms were around me and he leaned forward, arching my back so he could kiss a trail down my stomach. He brought me up again and just looked at my face.

I pulled my ponytail out, and Edward's fingers were instantly in my hair, and he held me, still looking into my eyes. I felt butterflies in my chest because he was looking for something. He was looking for permission to go further, but he hadn't asked the question so I didn't know how to tell him, how to show him that it was okay. I decided that maybe unbuttoning his shirt was the way to get my point across. I began with his tie, slipping it off his neck and dropping it beside me. Once his shirt was off, I didn't have to burden myself with thoughts anymore. I just started kissing and touching him over his chest and unbuttoning his pants without a thought. He picked me up and carried me to my bedroom, still kissing me. He sat me on the bed, and since his pants were already undone he just pushed them down and stepped out of them. He stood there in only his boxers, his broad chest rising with every breath. He reached forward and unzipped my side zipper. I lifted up so he could pull my skirt off.

"Bella," he said, his voice deep, quiet. He knelt down in front of me and my eyes followed him. He touched my neck, a soft touch that slid down my shoulders, my arms, to my hands where they rested on my thighs. He continued his exploration down my thighs, my calves, to my ankles and back up the inside of my legs, and they opened a little on their own accord. I wanted to lie back and let him do more to me, but I couldn't take my eyes off his. "I want to touch you everywhere. You're beautiful," he said in that same deep voice, the sound of desire lacing his words.

That did it. I could no longer sit up. I let myself fall back against the mattress, pulling him by his arms along with me. His hand was still on the inside of my thigh, and he pushed my legs apart wider and his fingers teased me. I couldn't hold back my moan. My own hands came to the sides of my panties and pushed at them until he understood that I wanted them off, and he pulled them down the rest of the way.

"Edward, come here." I wanted to feel him. I'd never felt him naked against me. He hovered over me and I unhooked my bra from the back, letting him take that off, too. His lips, smooth as satin, replaced it without hesitance. I arched my back, and stroked his skin down to his waist, where I held on and pulled him even closer against me, and he moaned, too. He wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me farther onto the bed so we were both all the way on it now, and his perfect fingers and lips traveled over me, playing me like a piano. His fingers played fervent, classical music all over my body until I almost couldn't stand it any longer; it was near torture not to have him inside me. I pulled on his shoulders until he was back there against me, where I needed him. I felt him naked between my legs. Somehow in this blur of feeling that surrounded me, I hadn't even noticed he had taken off his boxers. I gasped and Edward paused, pushed my hair back from my face and looked at me, the question back in his eyes. I couldn't speak so my arms wrapped around his back and I tugged him toward me, and he was in.

"Bella…"

I couldn't answer. All I could do was moan. And we were both gasping and moving together. With my hand to his head, I pulled his face, his lips to mine and we shared breaths and moans and tongues. His movements slowed to a pause and I pushed on the small of his back.

"More," I gasped out. And he was moving again. Deep inside me I felt him, his pace quickening, his pace uncontrolled, and then I was falling or floating, where it was just me and Edward and nothing else. The world may have still been there but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Edward in that moment.

He collapsed on top of me in heaving breaths, and then perhaps afraid he'd squish me, he lifted his weight and rolled to his back, pulling me along, his arms completely encircling my waist. I tangled our legs together; the hair on his tickled the smoothness of mine.

"Bella, that was-"

"I know," I said. His fingers moved, teasing my waist, up my side and back down to my hip. "That was so…"

He may have still been sliding his hands over my body when I fell asleep against his shoulder.

~::::::~

Edward slept through the thunder. I watched him when it boomed again—not even a flinch.

"Edward," I whispered. "Edward." I patted his chest, then wondered why I was whispering when I was trying to wake him up. "Edward," I said louder and nudged him, wiggled him. "Wake up."

He groaned.

"Edward, can't you hear that?"

"What?" It was another groan. "Come here." He held a lazy arm out, his eyes still closed.

"No. Wake up."

"Mmm."

"Edward, do you hear the thunder? Do you think it's raining?" I lifted the curtain covering the window over my bed, but I couldn't see out. There was nothing but blackness and the overhang above would keep rain off the window.

"I don't know. Come here, please." His eyes were open and he reached for me with both arms.

"No, you come here." I climbed out of bed and walked over to his side, trying to pull him up.

"Where do you want me to go? I'm asleep."

"Not anymore. Get up. Come on." I tugged on his arm. He was heavy.

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm just sleepwalking. Yes! Get up." I stopped tugging on him and went to the living room to grab his shirt and pants. When I returned to my bedroom, he was sitting up, wiping at his eyes. I threw him his pants, and then slipped my arms through his shirt. I buttoned it and he frowned at me as he stepped into his pants.

"Hurry," I said.

"Are you kicking me out? But you're wearing my shirt." He hooked a finger through the top of the shirt, pulling at the button. I didn't answer him, just took his finger out of my shirt and led him to the front door. Outside we walked up the steps, and I continued on to the sidewalk. Edward stayed where he was, on the top step, under the awning.

"It _is_ raining," I said. It wasn't pouring, but enough was coming down to soak me. I stood there, letting it.

"Are you crazy?"

"Yes. Come here, now."

He took a few steps toward me. "My shirt looks good on you all wet." He was blinking raindrops out of his eyes. I closed mine, faced the sky, felt the rain on my face.

"It's just like Forks. Raining in summer."

"That's what this is about? You're homesick? Of all things, you miss the rain?"

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"So amusing." He hugged me, kissed me, our foreheads, noses, chins, eyelashes all dripping rain. We laughed at ourselves and kissed some more. He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me. "Come on, let's get out of these wet clothes."

Back in my room, we helped each other out of what little clothes we had on. I would have hung them over the shower to dry, but I was otherwise distracted by Edward's lips and fingers. The clothes were a wet slush on the wood floor, and that's where they would have to stay.

Unless you're Edward, who I was beginning to believe could sleep through anything, it was impossible not to be awakened by all the noise in the morning. There was a diner on the other side of my patio fence. They offered outdoor seating during the summer, so just after the crack of dawn, they were noisy with dishes and silverware. I had grown use to it; it was almost calm to wake up to that—better than an alarm clock, if you asked me. However, after a night of nary a hair of sleep, it was ridiculously loud and obnoxious. Did they have to bang the plates so hard, and what where they doing? Throwing the silverware around? Sword fighting with it? Even a closed window and a pillow over my head couldn't block the sound.

I was up and brushing my teeth by 7:30 when Edward finally awoke. I pulled my toothbrush from my mouth, and I asked him if the restaurant noise woke him.

"The bed was empty. You were gone." He came behind me and kissed along my shoulder as I continued brushing. I was wearing a bra and panties because, even though we had made love, twice, I felt uncomfortable walking around naked in front of Edward.

"Morning," he said into the crook of my neck. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," I said.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Edward was standing in the living room in just his boxers, holding his clothes.

"You're getting dressed?"

He paused and smiled. "Does that disappoint you, Bella? I won't get dressed, if you don't. Besides, these things are still wet."

He draped his clothes over one of my chairs, then poured two cups of coffee, adding just a little cream and sugar to mine because he knew me well enough, and handed it to me. I leaned against his bare chest on the sofa, and his arm came around my waist, his hand resting on my stomach, and we sipped.

"Do you ever stop for a minute and think, _this is us?" _He asked._ "_I mean, who we used to be to each other and who we are to each other now?"

"I do that a lot. Especially last night."

"Me too."

"Is that why you kept randomly touching my arm last night?"

He laughed. "You felt that?"

I nodded. "But you know what's really weird?" I set my cup down on the coffee table and turned toward him. "That wasn't even the first time we slept together."

"That is kind of weird."

~::::::~

We'd shared a bed on every stop during our drive from Washington. It was because of James and it sort of just happened. We stayed at the Holiday Inn at our first stop in Idaho. James, the only one of us who could afford his own room, compromised to help us out, and we all three shared a room and the expenses. There were two double beds in the room. Edward was the first to claim one by lying down on his back, his hands behind his head.

"I'll sleep with Bella," James said. "I'm sure as hell not sleeping with you, man."

"You are not sleeping with me," I said. "Not with those hands. Who knows what you'll grab under the covers."

"I wouldn't touch you," James said.

"How can I be sure? We just met. I'll share a bed with Edward."

"You just met him, too."

"Yeah, but he's my best friend's brother. That's almost like family."

"It's okay," James said. "You can have your own bed, Bella. I'll share with that guy as long as he stays all the way on his side."

"No way," Edward said. "This bed is too small. Bella, you'll be fine here. I'll keep my hands to myself."

"I know you will," I said as I pulled night clothes from my suitcase and then went into the bathroom to change.

When I climbed into bed with Edward, he and James were watching some wrestling thing on TV. I turned on my side toward Edward, away from the TV. He was on his side, too, facing my direction.

"Goodnight." I closed my eyes and dragged a hand over the bed toward my face and felt Edward's hand next to mine. I didn't move. The sides of our hands were touching and neither of us moved. I wondered if he even noticed, but I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes to find out.

"You're not touching her under there, are you, Masen?" James asked.

"No. Shut off the TV and go to sleep."

"Is he being a gentleman, Bella?"

"Yes, James."

He shut off the TV and we all slept. In the morning, our hands were in the exact same position, still lined up, still touching.

I'd shrugged it off as nothing because he never mentioned it.

Facing him on the sofa now, I began wondering all over again. Too shy to come right out and ask him, I picked up his hand and lined mine up with his in the same way they'd been that night at the hotel. I gazed up at him to see if he had any reaction at all. He gave me a half-smile. He smirked at me, and nodded, then pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Our shared kisses and laughs were interrupted by a knock at the door.

We were forced to cover up. He tossed me his damp shirt, and I buttoned it up while he pulled on his slacks. Who could possibly be coming over at 8:00 in the morning on a Sunday?

"Maybe Jessica's home early," I said. Edward answered the door and I stood back, hiding myself behind the door.

"Masen?" It was James. "What are you…" He pushed the door back and saw me, his eyes widening. "You two?" He started backing up. "I see."

"Jay," Edward said. "Let's talk about this."

"Oh, you want to talk," he scoffed. "_You_ want to talk. All right, let's talk if that's what _you_ want. You're awfully fucking used to getting what you want, aren't you? I see you got our girl. You _know_ how I feel about her, but fuck that, you got her. You had no inclination to talk about that, did you?"

"James," I said.

He shook his head. "Don't, Bella. Not now. You're not even wearing any pants." He started to leave, then turned around again. "You gave it up for him? You won't even go out to dinner with me but you give it up for him?" He shook his head, his mouth turned down. He looked disgusted with me. I wanted pants. "Did he even ask you out? I doubt it. He knew he could get you to spread your legs for him."

"Hey!" Edward said. "Enough!"

My hand was making its way to my mouth as if entranced. It paused midway. I was speechless.

James ignored Edward. "And you know he never gets serious, that he avoids relationships like the fucking plague. Don't come crawling on your hands and knees to me when he drops you like all the rest."

"All right, Jay," Edward said, "let's go." He started for the door.

James held up a hand, backing up. "Don't worry, man, you don't need to see_ me out_. I just came to give these to Bella. To say, _thank you_. I wasn't aware I should have called first. So yeah, thanks." He dropped the brown bag, canolli, I assumed. "I'm out."

Edward closed the door, turned to me, and we just stared at each other for a minute. "I told you that I don't get serious. I was honest with you."

I searched his eyes. I braced myself for what he'd say next, that he wasn't ready to be exclusive, that last night was a… mistake?

"But Bella, that all changed when I decided to kiss you."

I let out a breath. Had my heart even been beating? I felt my blood in my veins, warming me.

"The second I kissed my best friend, the person who's meant the most to me in all of New York, that all changed." His lips tightened and he pointed at the floor. "This is _not_ just about getting you into bed and it never was. You know that, right? I mean, I couldn't keep my hands off you; you had to push them away so much in the beginning, but it was never just physical for me, okay? I wouldn't do that to you. We've been friends for too long. I wouldn't hurt you like that."

I nodded.

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes."

He stepped closer to me. "I'm sorry I never asked you out on a real date. I know I took you out, but I never officially asked. That was disrespectful."

I put my hands on his waist. "Edward, don't apologize. I never even thought of that. It's different for us. It was unexpected and then natural. Besides, you asked me to tour the city with you. It may have been a joke, but still. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm just yours. That's the way it is."

"You're mine?"

"Yes."

He kissed me, his arms circling me. "I'm yours, too," he whispered against my lips. "And I'm lucky. I know that."

"We'll have to see if Alice agrees."

"She will." He kissed me again, longer this time. "Bella, I want you to understand that last night was the best night of my life. I'm not going to mess this up. I won't."

"It was my best night too, Edward."

He kissed me in a way that seemed he would never stop. His lips were pressed tight against mine, his tongue in my mouth, and the kiss kept going. But eventually, he did break it.

"I have to go." He pulled back only slightly. "And as much as I love my shirt on your body, I'm going to need it. I have to find Jay. Try to talk to him."

I started unbuttoning his shirt, and he turned around. "I can't look at you or I won't leave." I put his shirt in his reaching hand. "It's still a little wet," He laughed, slipping his arms in. Then he faced me again with his eyes closed, reached for my hand and pulled me in for a kiss. "I want to take you to lunch. Do you have plans? Will you join me for lunch today?"

His eyes were still closed. He really couldn't look at me. I took his face and stood on tiptoe to kiss his eyelids. "Yes, I will. And see? You asked."

He nodded, smiled, turned around, and walked out, after James. The only thing left of Edward was his black tie. I saw it slung over the sofa. I let it stay right where it was.


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING **and spoiler: This chapter includes scenes of violence and rape. I have marked where the violence begins and ends with (xxxxxx) in case you don't want to read it. While the violence is detailed, the actual rape is not overly-detailed or long but it is there.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 5

The hard look in his eyes only faintly veiling his pain, and the words James had spat at me, played on repeat through my mind as I made my bed, as I cleaned up the coffee cups and wine glasses, and as I showered for my lunch date with Edward. I'd never seen James that angry with me before. I'd seen his temper with others, but never me.

_He knew you'd spread your legs for him._

Had I deserved that? Had I brought that on myself by being too gutless to be honest with James?

_He knew you'd spread your legs for him._

I shuddered.

I'd never discussed my sex-life with James. There was no way I could do that. So what he couldn't have known was that Edward was only the second person I'd ever slept with. Jacob's sudden break up senior year had left me with distrust. If someone I'd been loyal to for years could suddenly let everything go in a day, how could someone new be trusted?

There was only one guy I'd met while living in New York whom I thought I could actually see a future with. His name was Travis, an English major too, and the only person in all my classes whose writing abilities I yearned to parallel. I was enthralled by his writing, almost a fan, if unpublished writers had fans. It was on the last day of my second fall semester—NYU's campus white with snow—when he'd asked me out.

James was over the Saturday evening I expected Travis to pick me up. He'd said he wanted to talk and poured us both a glass of wine. James had taken a seat in one of the chairs facing me as I sat on the sofa, listening, but he never got to any point and the evening was growing. When I tried ushering him out, he'd insisted on staying.

"I want to meet this guy who thinks he's good enough for you," he said, and brought his wine to his mouth.

"James, you can meet him when I'm ready to introduce you. Will you just go before he gets here?"

"Is that what you're wearing? Where are you normal jeans?"

I'd chosen a black dress for dinner, and although it was short in length, it seemed modest enough, not too low cut, not skin hugging. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Stop acting like you're my dad and please go."

He sighed and placed his half-finished wine glass on the coffee table and reached across for mine, setting it next to his. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll go if you leave these glasses here. Make that guy think. Let him know there's competition out there."

I agreed. I'd leave the glasses there. Chances were it would go unnoticed, and if not, that second glass could have belonged to anyone, my roommate for example.

But as I opened the door to show James out, Travis was right there, his arm placed in a ready-to-knock position.

James got the introduction he was hoping for and made small talk with Travis, but just as Travis seemed comfortable, James pointed at him and said, "You watch yourself with her. You hurt her, and you'll have me and Masen to deal with."

"Who's Masen?"

"You don't want to know," said James.

"James!" I turned to Travis. "Don't listen to him. He's just an _ex_-friend." I glared at James as I reached in front of him to tear my coat from its hook, and then I stepped outside with Travis, locking the door behind me—locking James in with his precious half-finished glass of wine.

I'd refused to talk to James for weeks after that, ignored his calls, and cancelled all plans at the coffee house. But James wouldn't give up. He showed up with pizza and begged for a chance to talk. The pizza box was bigger than the coffee table when he set it down.

"Look," he said. "I worry about you. It's hard for me when I'm not there to see that you're safe. But I went about it all wrong, and I can't be with you all the time. You're a big girl, Bella, and I messed up. I won't do it again."

"No, you won't," I said, my arms crossed over my chest. "Because you will no longer know when or where I go on dates."

He said that was fair enough. "I know why you're forgiving me. It's almost Christmas and you don't want to be alone."

"Who wants to be alone on Christmas?" I asked.

He laughed, but it was only half a laugh before his face went serious. "Thank you, Little B." He hugged me, his arms wrapping my shoulders.

We sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. "It's your favorite," he said, pulling up a slice and handing it to me. "Real Italian pizza. See? I know you well enough to know where to get your favorite pizza."

"Anyone's favorite could be from Little Italy."

"Not Americans. They love that thick-crust Chicago style, or the over-greased New York style that pretends to be Italian."

He turned the evening light with jokes—had me laughing as usual—making things as easy as ever between us. He was always good at that.

This morning though, the things he'd said to me brought all of that back to mind. I found myself angry with James again, and then feeling a little guilty because despite what he'd said to me about spreading my legs, I had been the one to hurt him first.

As I clasped my bra, a soft knock came from the front door. I glanced at the clock: 11:23. Edward was early. I grabbed my clothing from my bed, threw my tank top on, and hopped into my skirt on my way to the door, laughing to myself as I realized that this time I _would_ be keeping him waiting, just as he'd expected on his arrival before Shakespeare in the Park. But through the peek hole, on the other side of the door, James stood.

His eyes were bloodshot, eyelids swollen. Had he been crying?

"James? Are you all right? Did Edward find you?"

"May I come in?" He pushed his way in and I closed the door behind him. "So, you and Mase?"

I closed my eyes. "I-I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you last night, but-"

"But I was an idiot. I thought I'd finally impressed you. I thought the doors to Bella were finally opening up to me. I can't believe I actually allowed myself to get fucking hopeful. You were already with him—making a fool out of me."

"You're not an idiot, James, and you're not a fool. That was my fault. I should've said something sooner. Right away. I'm sorry."

"How long?" He sank into the sofa with his head in his hands.

"It's still new. We just realized-"

"Realized?" He looked up, laughed a little. "What, you've known each other for years and it just hit you over the head?"

"Sort of. It was kind of an accident. Neither one of us had ever really thought about it. I mean, we were friends. And then that last time at the coffee house, we kissed. It was a joke, but we both felt something, and things just… progressed."

He stood up and took my hands in his. "We're friends, too. If we kissed, maybe-"

"No." I backed up. "James, I can't. I'm… I'm with…"

"Edward." He fell back into the sofa.

"Are you okay? Do you want something to drink?"

"Bella, god damn it. I don't want a fucking drink. Stop being so… you!"

"I can't." I let out a small laugh because how could I be anyone else?

He stood up and leaned toward me, his face close to mine. "Kiss me," he said.

I shook my head. "I'm not going to kiss you. I'm sorry. The timing isn't right."

"When will the timing be right? The first time I asked you out, you laughed at me, and I let it go for a year, but then the timing still wasn't right. It has never been right. Don't my feelings matter to you?"

"I didn't laugh at you. I thought you were joking. And of course I care about your feelings, but I just don't feel the same way. I can't force it. You shouldn't want me to."

"Maybe you won't have to force it. How do you know? It's me, Bella. You know me. You _like_ me. Just kiss me. What's one kiss?" He held up a finger and brought it to my lips. I backed away.

"I can't, James. I'm not trying to hurt you, but I won't do that to Edward."

"You're willing to dismiss me, hurt me, but not Edward? We've known each other for the same amount of time. He should _not_ be more important to you than me! This thing you have with Edward, it's new. You just told me that. Kiss me before it's too late. Just one real kiss before things get serious between you and Masen. Give me that much, Bella. Just that."

He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head.

"Bella, how can you do that? How can you pull away from me like that? After everything I've done for you. I've chosen a career path; I've lined up jobs; I've been fucking responsible. All for you. Isn't that what you want?"

My eyes widened, my heartbeat quickening. I couldn't believe that was what he thought I wanted. What had I done to make him think that? "No, James. That's not what I want. I want all of those things for you, but just for you. Not for me. Why did you do that for me?"

"Because I had to show you who I can be. I can be good for you." His eyes shone with tears and he blinked. "We're meant to be. I can feel it. Don't you feel it too?"

I shook my head. "I know who you can be. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't have those kinds of feelings for you. I told you that. You said we'd always be friends."

But then I remembered: _I won't give up on you_. He'd said that and I hadn't said anything. I should have said something. I brought a hand to my head. There was no way to go back and say something.

He lifted my face. The whites of his eyes were so reddened, really bringing out the blue—bright and solid, like sapphire marbles. "Just let me kiss you for real. You might be surprised. I can't lose you to Edward."

"James, please." I felt tears burn my eyes. "Edward and I are committed to each other. It may be new, but we're serious already. And even if we weren't, I don't want to kiss you. So you're not losing me, see?"

"Because I never had you. Because you won't even give me a chance. I'm still not good enough for you, but Edward is." He walked away, shaking his head. "It doesn't make any sense," he said under his breath, pausing at the bookshelf next to the TV. "I have more to offer you than he does."

I sat down on the sofa, having no idea what to do or say. Edward's tie was still slung over the sofa next to me. I picked it up and pulled it through my fingers; the silk on my skin reminded me of Edward's lips, and I wished he was here. While I fingered the tie, James was thumbing across the books on the top shelf.

"Jane Austen," he said. "Such a fucking romantic, but men can just fuck off, right?" He shook his head again. "No one has ever turned me down before. Not ever. Why you? Why can't I have you?" He turned toward me.

"Welcome to the world, James. We don't always get what we want."

He ignored that, or maybe he hadn't even heard it.

"Are you saying never?"

"I can't see the future, but as far as I'm feeling right now and have been feeling all along—yes, never." I put the tie down next to me, hoping he didn't notice it.

"We've said we love each other, remember? You love me."

I did remember, but it had evidently meant something different to him than it had to me.

That night was well before he'd ever asked me out. I'd only been living in New York for a year, and the three of us were walking home, making fun of the party we'd just left. Not one of us was sober. We were headed to my apartment where we'd drink some more, where Jessica would be, and where later, James and Jessica would sleep together and then somehow miraculously forget about it the following day.

I was walking in between James and Edward, my arms linked through each of theirs. At the party, James had been staving off advances toward me from other guys, sometimes placing an arm over my shoulders, pretending to be my boyfriend.

"Little B," James had said, patting my hand, guiding us all over to the sidewalk. "I'm really fucking glad you don't fall for the bullshit lines those assholes feed you. They only want one thing, and you're amazingly aware of that. So many of those fucking girls don't have a fucking clue. But I know it. They fall for my shit, you know?"

"Yeah," Edward said, "Bella's really lucky she has you, Jay. That way she can see first hand what to look out for."

"I'm having a real fucking moment here, Masen. Don't fuck it up."

Edward laughed.

"I love you, Little B," James said. "That's all I'm saying."

"Well, I love you too, but I don't think you should treat any girl in a way you don't think I should be treated."

"Nah," James said. "You're different. Isn't she, Edward? Our girl is different."

"I won't argue with that," Edward said.

"And did you hear her? She loves me." James smiled, his eyes half closed. It had made me laugh to see him so drunk and happy, instead of getting argumentative as he so often did.

Edward let go of my arm and came around between James and me, throwing an arm around both of us. "And I love you both. Bella, do you have tequila? I wanna to be where Jay is."

"Sorry," I said, reaching through my bag for my keys. "I can't buy liquor yet. You seem to forget that even though you're both over twenty-one, I'm still nineteen. But I think I have the beer you two left here the last time you were over."

"Beer works," James said.

I'd wanted to tell him he'd had enough, but I didn't want to shove him tumbling from his rainbow so I kept quiet, looking closely as I attempted to align the key in the keyhole.

And now, sober in my apartment, James was still thinking of that night three years ago. The "I love yous."

"I don't love you in that way," I said. "The love I feel for you has only ever been friendship."

He looked at me. Just stared. I had to look away, down at my hands, at the wood floor.

"What about Victoria?" I said, watching the patterns in the wood grain. There was so much movement in them. The darker and lighter waves seemed to flow like the waves of the Hudson.

"Victoria?" He laughed. "She's not you. I'm tired of looking for you in other girls. I want the real you." He came over to me, knelt down, and put his hands on my shoulders. "Look at me."

I met his eyes.

"You said that you and Edward never thought about it. It just happened. I've thought about it, Bella. I've thought about you and me for over three years. We could be so good together. I can see it. Why can't you?"

"James, please understand. You and I are just friends. That's all."

He shook his head. "I'm going. I wish you would give me a chance, but you won't. I'm going and I won't be back. I can't see you anymore as nothing more than a friend. And I sure as _fuck_ can't see you with Edward." His grip on my shoulders tightened. I looked away from him, at the curtained window. It was a sheer white curtain, the sunlight shining through, illuminating the entire room.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?" He laughed. "You can't even fight for our friendship?" He lifted me to my feet by the sides of my arms and kept lifting until only the tips of my toes touched the floor. We were nose to nose. My heart raced.

"Put me down!" He did put me down. "I think time apart will do some good. You're clearly hurting. And so am I!" I rubbed my arms where he'd held tightly. Before I could relax, he grabbed my arm with one hand and pulled me to him, his lips crashing down on mine. Rough.

"Did you feel that?" He took my other arm and shook me a little, like he was trying to shake some feeling into me.

I looked down at his hand on my arm. "No, I didn't feel anything. Let go of me!"

"Okay," he said, but he didn't let go.

"Let go of me." This time my voice was weak, almost a whisper.

"I will. As soon as you give me the chance I fucking deserve."

"I'm not giving you anything! Why are you acting like this?" Tears burned my eyes.

"Three years, Bella. You've got to see it. How can you not see it?" His already firm grip tightened on my arms and my eyes found the window again. "I've been so patient, just waiting for you to admit your feelings for me. You're in denial." He pulled me against him. I could feel his chest on mine, and he kissed me again. Not as rough this time, but I felt his tongue on my lips, and I held mine tightly closed.

"Kiss me back!" He shook me again.

I yanked one arm from his grasp and slapped him. Hard. Across the face. His hand flew to his cheek, and he froze, wide-eyed.

"Fucking stop it, James! I don't want you touching me or putting your mouth on mine! I don't want you. Can't you hear me? I know what I want! I want Edward! Get out. Get the fuck out!"

I started toward the door and he took my elbow, spinning me around. Panic bolted through me.

"You would want me instead of him if you just gave me a fucking chance!"

His lips came toward me. I turned my head. He grabbed my chin with one hand and turned my face back to his, but I put a hand over his mouth, blocking him from my lips. He bit me, right at the base of my palm. I screamed out in pain and wrenched my hand back. His lips came down on me covering my scream, tongue swooping through my mouth. I gagged. My knee jerked to his crotch, and he let go of me, doubling over, grunting, "Shit!"

xxxxxx

I raced to the door, turned the handle, but just as I had it slightly open, he grabbed my wrist and flung me down on the ground with one hand. I slid on my back, my head bashing against the wall, my sight blackening. I couldn't see James or the window, or even the light coming in. I tried so hard to open my eyes before I realized that they were open, I just couldn't see anything. I let them close. Maybe he would leave now._ Leave_.

I felt a soft hand, fingers against my cheek. And then James's voice, soft too, moved with his breath through the air between us, so close. "Bella. Bella, open your eyes. I'm sorry."

"James." I tried opening my eyes. I blinked but nothing came into focus.

"It's okay, Bella. It's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident. I just couldn't let you go. Not yet. Not until you understand. Let me show you, okay?"

I felt hands lifting my skirt, fingers at my hips, tugging fast on my panties, down to my ankles, and then hands spreading my knees apart.

I opened my eyes again. First there was light, too bright. I squinted. Then there was James, hovering over me, unbuttoning his jeans, his knees between my legs.

"James? What are you doing? Stop this! Stop it!"

He was somebody else. This couldn't be James. I pushed against him, pummeling with my fists. Over and over again, I pummeled, hitting anything I could: his chest, his shoulders, his face. He grabbed my wrists, lifted my arms back over my head, and held them down with just one hand.

"Let me go! Let go!" I struggled against his hold but couldn't break free. "James, stop! James! James!" I thought that if I kept saying his name I could remind him of who he was, bring him back to his senses, but it wasn't working. "Don't hurt me!" I wailed it. I was crying.

"Bella, don't act like this. You want me. You'll see."

Behind him, I remembered, the door was slightly open. If I screamed, somebody would hear. They'd hear. So I screamed. He covered my mouth with his other hand—pressed hard.

"Shh, shh," he said, as if soothing me. Tears streaked my face. I had trouble breathing through my nose.

His voice was calm. "I'm going to make you feel good. Better than Edward does. That's what I do." His hand over my mouth forced my face to the side, exposing my neck, and then his lips were there. Lips on my neck, kissing. Kissing! They were gentle kisses and I hated them. I wriggled beneath him.

"You want me," he said. "I know you do. It's us. It's me, Bella. Me."

He put all of his weight on me. I couldn't move anymore and he was there between my legs. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was really happening. This was really going to happen. He plunged into me. Pain shot through me. My back scraped against the hard wood floor. He groaned in pleasure. _Pleasure._ I screamed in my throat. Couldn't get the sound out, his hand held my mouth too hard. Then he was off of me. Out of me. Gone.

I pulled my legs tight together and turned to the side, my eyes still squeezed shut. I was afraid to open them. How long had I been there, my legs, my eyes, my jaw all clenched?

xxxxxx

"Bella!" A frantic voice. Not James. A good voice. "Bella!" Fingers pulling on my panties again. Up this time. The right way. I opened my eyes.

"Edward?"

"Tell me I'm not too late." He was hovering over me now. His green eyes wet. "Please, tell me I'm not too late." He held my face, his touch so gentle I could have cried. But I didn't. "Did I stop him before he… before he… Bella?"

"Edward…" I said again.

"It's me, sweetheart. You're safe. James is gone. He left." Tears dripped down Edward's face, off his chin onto my chest. And when he spoke again, there was no hope left in his voice. "Please, tell me I'm not too late. Am I too late, Bella?"

I couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, so I just looked into his eyes until he saw his answer there. He pulled me up against his chest and rocked us both back and forth.

"No. No, no, no. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." He kept repeating it. Kept rocking us. A soothing hand down my hair, and then again, and again. But it didn't change anything. It didn't change the fact that James, my friend, had ripped into me. And that was when I cried, too. Both of us shaking in quiet sobs. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his thumb quivering as he dialed 9-1-1, still holding me.

"There's been an… assault," I heard him say. I covered my ears. I couldn't hear him explain this. He kissed my face, holding me tighter as he spoke into the phone. Then he pulled my hands from my ears. "They're on their way." He kissed my forehead.

We sat there holding on to each other, waiting. I wished we weren't waiting for anything. Wished we could just sit there in one another's arms and never go anywhere, never see anything.

"I don't want anyone to come."

"Bella."

"Will there be sirens?"

"What-I don't know." His hand drifted up my back to my shoulder. "Are you worried about your neighbors?"

"Edward?" I looked up at him and he looked down at me. Whatever he saw in my face made him close his eyes. What did he see when he looked at me? What would I see the next time I looked in the mirror? When Edward's eyes opened, his tears were back. The sight of me had made him cry. I swallowed hard.

"Please don't tell anyone," I whispered, my voice hoarse.

"We have to tell the police."

"I know. But I mean anyone else. My friends. My d-dad. Alice." I couldn't have them seeing what Edward saw now. I couldn't make others cry just by looking at me.

"We don't have to talk about this now."

"Yes we do! They can't know! I need you not to call anyone or allow anyone to be called! Please do this for me!"

"Bella, shh. I won't tell anyone, okay? Not until you're ready. I won't, but we don't have to talk about this now."

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry I yelled."

"Don't apologize. You can yell at me. Yell at me all you want. I'll do anything for you, Bella. Anything you ask."

There were no sirens, just lights. I saw the red and blue flashing through the curtain. Edward and I hadn't moved an inch. My bedroom wall was still behind me, the kitchen to my right, the bathroom to my left, the living room in front of me, and the whole place, the whole apartment was different. It was like I'd never seen it before. And I remained in Edward's lap, my head against his shoulder, his hand rubbing up and down my back.

A bang on the door. I jumped even though I knew it was coming. Edward's hug tightened around me. Why do cops always bang? I'd seen it on TV, too. Why is knocking softly so wrong?

"They're so fast," I said.

"Can you get up?"

I nodded even though I didn't want to. Even though I wasn't sure my legs would work. He stood us both up and kept an arm around me. With Edward, I took the first steps into my new life.

We answered the door together, but I didn't look. My face was hidden in Edward's chest, his black T-shirt. So dark. I wanted to stay there in the dark of Edward's chest. And his hand held my head there as if to say, "Go ahead and stay."

"I'm Officer Bristow. This is Officer Trenton. We've received a call about a sexual assault?"

Edward backed up and they both entered. I looked at them then.

"Are you the victim?" the tall thin one asked. I saw his partner, a much shorter, rounder man, give him a look.

I cringed and nodded. Edward brought me to the sofa, sitting us down close against each other, our hands clasped together. I noticed his tie beside me and picked it up. Tears gathered in my eyes when I felt the silk against my hand, but I held them back.

"Here," I said, handing it to Edward. He took it and stared at it for a little while, maybe seeing in it what I saw. The tie I removed from around his neck last night, when it was just the two of us—the part of him that had remained here through it all, like a witness. He folded it up and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He squeezed my hand and then he brought it to his lips.

The two police officers sat in chairs opposite us. I looked at the window behind them, the sheer curtain. Releasing Edward's hand, I went to the window to open it. Wind moved the curtain like a spirit, and even though the air was warm, almost hot, I shivered and returned to my spot next to Edward. It had hurt to move. It had hurt to use my arm muscles when I slid the window open.

The rounder officer asked for our names and then for Edward's identification.

"Isabella," the officer said. "Do you feel safe right now?"

I felt Edward bring his arms around me and I nodded.

"I need a statement from you, and I will have to ask you very personal questions. But first, I need Edward to leave the room for a minute." I saw him glance at Edward.

I grabbed Edward's arm with both my hands. He cupped my face with his other hand.

"I'll just go to your room, okay? I won't leave the apartment."

I nodded, conceding to the fact that I had no choice but to let him go, and then he was gone. I felt cold. I had to stand up because I was shrinking into the sofa. I was too small. Even if it hurt, I went to the window again and closed it, but when I turned toward the officers, both of them looking at me, I needed it open again, and pushed it back. Another breeze wafted through my hair, making me shiver again. My legs were feeling sore and weak, but still I stood.

The chubby officer, the one who'd made Edward go away, turned toward me in his chair, peering up at me. I glared at him without thinking, my hands tight fists.

"This man, Edward. Was he involved in the assault in any way?"

My eyes widened. "Edward? No!" I shook my head.

"Did he force you to do anything against your will?" His eyes were brown and murky. I wanted the calm green of Edward's.

"No! Can he come back in here now?"

He nodded, then went to my room and brought Edward back. Alone for those few short seconds with the skinny officer, I stared him down until Edward returned. He came right to me, wrapped me up tight, and we both sat down on the sofa again, together.

"We need you to tell us what happened," the same officer said. "In the interest of the report, we shouldn't offer you the words. You should be the one to say it."

The lanky officer sat tall and silent beside him. His nose was pointy, pointing down at his mouth. I wondered why he was even here. And I wondered why the round officer bothered using the word "we." That round officer held a clipboard, his pen moving quickly along the paper whenever I answered him.

"Um… James… he… um-" I had to whisper it, shooting a rapid glance at the skinny officer "-raped me." I closed my eyes, my chin quivered, and I tried so hard not to cry. It didn't work. Tears fell fast. Edward rubbed my back and I barely felt his lips on my cheek, they were so light. But I did feel them and I pulled away, scooting over on the sofa some, pushing his hands off me. I felt sweaty and nauseous, like I was going to vomit. I put a hand over my mouth and wrapped an arm around my stomach.

"You know your attacker? James what?"

"James Garrett," Edward answered.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-seven," Edward said.

"Isabella, I have to ask you some details now. You don't have to answer anything you don't want to, but all of this is in your best interest should you decide to prosecute." His voice was quiet when he asked the next question. "Did James penetrate you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Are you on any form of birth control?"

"Yes."

"Did he use a condom?"

I shook my head.

"Did he ejaculate?"

I squeezed my eyes. I felt every part of my body rise with goose bumps, and sweat beads gathered around my hairline and at my neck under my hair.

"Give her a break," Edward said. "Can't you see what this is doing to her?"

Edward's hand was gentle over my hair. His touch could have just as easily been another breeze from the open window. "Take your time, Bella," he said.

I shook my head, swallowed hard and deep. "He didn't have t-time." I shook my head again. "Edward." I turned to look at him. "Edward stopped him. Thank you, Edward. Thank you."

He brought his forehead against mine and looked into my eyes. "Don't thank me," he whispered. "Please don't thank me."

"Isabella?" The officer's voice was even softer than before, as if Edward snapping at him had hit home. I turned to him, awaiting his next question. "Are you in any pain now?"

I glanced up at Edward; his jaw was clenched but his face relaxed when he saw me looking.

"Would it be easier for you to talk about this if Edward left the room?"

I shook my head. "No, please let him stay." I put my hand on Edward's leg, as if that could keep him there.

"He's welcome to stay. We just want you to feel comfortable."

Comfortable? Was that possible? Would I ever feel comfortable again? I couldn't even recall what it meant. My bones ached, my teeth ached, and I felt so small in the world, that even my own skin felt too big.

"Yes, I am in some pain."

"And what about your hand?"

I lifted my right hand to look at it. The officer had noticed. I'd forgotten about it.

"Your hand," Edward said, taking it in his. "Teeth marks?" He turned his body to face me. "And your wrists?" He held them both, his thumbs caressing. "Bruises." His eyes and hands wandered up my arms. He caressed gently my upper arms, where James had squeezed and shook me. "He left marks, everywhere."

"I forgot," I sobbed out. James had bitten me, shaken me, slammed me down. "How could I forget?"

"No, no, no. It's okay. Shh." He pulled me in close.

"My head," I said, reaching for the back of it, my fingers weaving through my hair. A knot had formed. "He threw me down on the ground. My head hit the wall. He said it was an accident." I shook my forehead against Edward's chest, then I turned to the two officers. "I forgot. I think I might have blacked out. I'm not sure. I couldn't see anything for a while. My eyes were open, but I couldn't see."

"Bella," Edward said. He kissed my head. "Bella." I thought he was calling me, but he was just saying my name. His thumb and index finger were pressing into his eyes, trying to block tears, but it didn't work because when he pulled his hand away, the tears followed. He saw me watching him and kissed my forehead, held his lips there against my skin. I felt some of his tears land on my face. They were warm, just like the air from the window, and they made me shiver too.

The chubby officer held out his hand. "May I have a look at the bite?"

I offered my hand to him, but when he took it I stiffened and pulled back. His touch was not tender like Edward's. I realized my overreaction and gave him my hand again.

He turned to his partner. "Broke the skin." He turned back to me. "Have you washed your hands or taken a shower?"

I shook my head. But then, thinking about it, that was all I wanted to do. Wash James off of me, scrub hard. I probably still had flakes of his skin on me, his scent. A quiver shook me. "I want to."

"Don't wash yet." He looked at Edward and then back at me. "You need to go to the hospital now. You need an examination, and Edward is welcome to come with you and stay throughout the medical exam if that's what you want. Everything is your choice, Isabella. Everything is in your control. You may deny the exam or stop it at any time. But it would be best for you to go right now. Should you decide to prosecute James, you're going to need all the documented evidence you can get. It's good that you haven't washed."

I shuddered at that. My dirty body was evidence. I wanted to wash so badly.

"I don't have a car," Edward said. "I took a taxi here."

"We'll drive you. We still have more questions, Isabella, but an exam is the first priority right now."

Relief flooded through me as Edward and I followed the policemen toward the door—relief to finally leave the apartment, but then I hesitated.

"What is it?" Edward asked.

I peered up at him. I had to ask him something and didn't know how to go about it. I was afraid to come back here, though. I knew he wouldn't say no, but I didn't want him to feel obligated or forced.

"Edward… I don't want to come back here." My voice quieted to a whisper. "Can I? May I… stay with you tonight? After the hospital, I mean."

"Bella." He wrapped his arms snug around me. "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're staying with me for as long as you want. Go to the car. I'll pack up some clothes for you."

Outside, the sun warmed my skin. The air was just after the rain fresh. I closed my eyes, inhaling. No more curtained window, dark wood floor, musty scent. I'd been out here in the middle of last night, in the rain that had made the air so fresh. I'd enjoyed it with Edward, happy, unharmed. I waited outside for Edward, didn't get into the car with the cops, just stood outside of it, under the heat of the sun, my skin burning. My neighbors, the couple next door, were exiting their apartment and eyed me standing in front of the police car, double parked in the street. The woman, perhaps my father's age, waved at me. She was smiling, but frowning at the same time, puzzled. In her world, what did she see? A girl, perhaps, who'd had a break-in. Maybe a girl who'd gotten herself into some trouble. She certainly didn't see a soiled girl, a violated girl, not a girl who carried evidence on her skin and inside her body.

I didn't wave back.


	6. Chapter 6

I have to thank you for all the warm reviews after last chapter. Nothing about this story has been easy, emotionally, to write, but Chapter 5 was the hardest for me to post. Your reviews set my heart at ease, and I thank you for taking the time.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 6

Soft light from Edward's bedside lamp spread around the room like melting butter. Despite the warm golden glow, I was shivering under the covers. I had no idea what time it was, only that it was dark outside. The door was closed by my request. I'd kept shooting glances at the open doorway after catching sight of movement out of the corner of my eye, until I thought closing it would help. My heavy head was sinking into one of Edward's pillows, wetness fanning over it from my soaked and tangling hair.

Edward climbed onto the bed, fully dressed, aside from his shoes. He didn't get under the covers with me.

"Is this okay?" he asked, and I answered by pulling his arm around me and linking our fingers, holding him there. Edward had tried to get me to eat, once at the hospital and again when we arrived here, but the thought of food disgusted me, and the sight of it was worse.

"They'll find him," Edward said.

I didn't answer, didn't want to talk about it. I'd engaged in too much forced conversation about it at the hospital.

"Do you want one of the sleeping pills Dr. Cullen gave you? They'll help you relax."

"I don't want to close my eyes," I said.

My earlier attempt to wash myself free of James hadn't worked. I started the water as hot as I could stand it, and when my body adjusted to the temperature, I turned the heat up more. And then I turned it up again. I scorched my body, but no matter how hot the water was or how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't get rid of him. _No, you can't wash **that **off._ He wasn't on the surface; he was inside. It would take more than soap and water to cleanse myself of James.

He oscillated through my mind. I'd close him out and he'd come right back around. Sometimes it was James hurting me. Other times it was good James, funny James, wise-cracking James. James the perpetual student. James the chef with the delicious canolli. But remembering good James was even worse because as it turned out, he wasn't good—never would be again.

While scrubbing my skin raw in Edward's shower, behind his blue shower curtain, I discovered bruises just as blue that had formed on my inner thighs. They were big and asymmetrical, and must have occurred while I was attempting to fight James off, all of his weight on me. I held on to them, my hands between my legs, felt the heat from them, but could no longer bring myself to look at them.

I remained in the shower until my toes and fingers pruned, and the water ran cold. Edward hadn't interrupted me once, understanding what I needed. I shut the then freezing water off and twisted my hair, a stream of water falling down the drain. I'd done this a million times before. Why did it have to be so different this time? This time I watched the water go down the drain, the place it was meant to go. That was the way it was built. But still, it seemed the drain was swallowing it, taking the water, pulling it against its will from the bathtub floor.

Goose bumps climbed, piling one on top of the other over my body as I toweled off. Then, picking up Edward's T-shirt, I smelled it. All Edward. No James. I pulled it over my head and tugged at the ends, peering down at my thighs, making sure the bruises weren't noticeable. I didn't want Edward to see them.

I avoided the mirror, not even one glance in its direction.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Edward was there, leaning against the adjacent wall just outside of his bedroom. Redness circled his eyelids. He hadn't moved from that spot since I'd entered the bathroom. How long had it been? I imagined I'd been in there for hours. He opened his arms to me and I walked right in, snuggling against his shoulder.

"You're so cold," he said, rubbing my arms. "Like ice."

He didn't say anything about the length of the shower or ask me how I was. He didn't have to. I let him guide me blindly to his room, where he tucked me into the sheets, pulling the comforter on top, trying to warm me. He knew I didn't want to be alone and had offered me his bed. Sleep together, that was the plan, but sleep wasn't happening.

"You don't have to close your eyes if you don't want to," he said now, one arm over me, the one I had placed there. "Here, sit up." He went to the bathroom, came back with a comb, and began combing my hair, layer by layer, starting at the ends. I looked at our shadows cast on the wall across from me. One taller and behind the other; we could have been anybody.

The closet door was next to our shadowed bodies. Inside there, Edward had left the bag of clothing he'd packed for me. My journal was in that bag too. And, although I hadn't felt compelled to take it out to write in it once, the fact that Edward had plucked it from my nightstand and added it to the bag had me reaching behind me to touch his leg. He hadn't gone into my bathroom, so my toiletries, my toothbrush, were all still at my apartment. Edward gave me one of his extra toothbrushes to use. It rested in a cup next to his in his bathroom. My personal belongings, along with the rest of the clothes I owned, and all of my memoirs stored away on a shelf in my closet, were alone in that apartment. The only thing with them now were ghosts. I shivered.

"How do you know how to do that?" I asked. "You're not even pulling."

"Alice used to have really long hair. Longer than yours, before she cut it all off. My mom didn't have the patience with it and always hurt her until they ended up screaming at each other. Alice asked me to do it. I guess I have the patience."

I closed my eyes, let him comb, but then I saw blue eyes, jumped, and my eyes shot open again.

"What? Did I pull?"

"No, it's nothing." I shook my head. What was happening to me? I couldn't even close my eyes without seeing him.

Edward paused his combing for a second and his lips came to my head.

"When we were young, Alice used to kick my ass," he said.

"What?"

"She did. I was such a wimpy little kid."

He told me about the Christmas when he was ten. Alice was irate with him for ripping the heads off her dolls. He didn't like the way they were always staring. "They had these wide eyes and open mouths. Not cute at all," Edward said. "And Alice talked to them like they were real."

She kicked the crap out of Edward in front of his whole family, uncles, aunts, cousins. When his mother finally pulled a kicking, screaming Alice off Edward, he had a black eye, and his father made fun of him for being beat up by a girl. "In my defense, I didn't fight back. I tried to push her away from me, but I didn't fight back. They made me glue the heads back on. I glued them on backwards. On purpose."

He finished combing and turned me around to face him.

"You always paint such a different picture of Alice than I've ever known." I must have smiled thinking of how different our Alices were. They could have been two different people.

Edward touched my smile, and it faded away. Even though it wasn't his intention, drawing attention to my smile just reminded me of why it meant so much for him to see it.

"Edward? You know how you told me about Alice sabotaging your relationships?"

"Yeah."

"James used to do that to me, too. It only happened a few times before I stopped talking about my dates."

"What? Why didn't you ever tell me he did that?"

I looked down at my lap. "There's so much I should have told you," I whispered, and he cupped my face, lifting my eyes to him.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You were under no obligation to tell me. But I had no idea he did that. What did he do?"

"Once, he interrupted the date. He just pulled a chair up and joined us. He acted like it was the most normal thing ever to just sit down with us, and he started cracking jokes like he does—or did. And another time, he showed up at my apartment before this guy, Travis, picked me up. James threatened Travis not to hurt me, like he was my father. I never heard from either of those guys again. And I was so mad at James after Travis, but he kept apologizing. He said… he said he was only-only watching out for me. And you know him - he ended up making me laugh. Edward, I _laughed_." Tears leaked from my eyes. "His behavior should have been a warning maybe, but I laughed."

"Bella…" Edward brought his fingers to my cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb. Then he pulled my head slowly to his chest. "You couldn't have known he was capable of this. Don't do this to yourself. He made me laugh all the time, too. Okay? He fooled us both."

I wondered when the next time would be that I would laugh or even truly smile. Smile without negativity lining it, without guilt.

Neither Edward or I had smiled once at the hospital. Dr. Cullen gave me test after test and examined my head and my hand. My palm where James had sank his teeth into me was purple. The nurse put some antiseptic on it, warning me that it might sting. I didn't tell her that a sting was nothing compared to what I'd been through. Edward's arm was around me, his hand traveling lightly up and down my arm.

I was still in the same clothes—my tank top, skirt, my panties—and I felt them on me as if they were weights. I shifted in my seat trying to forget about them, but they still hung heavily over me. Before I knew they'd be kept for evidence, I thought I'd throw them away later. They could go be as heavy as rocks in a dumpster somewhere.

The police officers were there, and I remained unsure of who was whom by name. I didn't like either one of them. It wasn't their fault, but they were making me talk and I despised them for it. Officer Tall-and-Narrow got on my nerves the most because I still didn't see the purpose of his presence. And I couldn't look at the round officer because he was writing down my answers. I knew he was just doing his job—it had to be done—but now, what happened with James, it wasn't just between Edward and me anymore. It was growing. From my lips to the officer's pen to that clipboard, it grew, became part of the universe. How many people would read it? How many strangers would know all about the worst thing that had ever happened to me?

I answered the officer's questions with contempt and refused to make eye contact, choosing instead to look at the yellow tiled floor. Who chooses the color yellow for a hospital room? Sure, in theory, maybe it's meant to be happy, calming, but on this day, it was angry, severe.

Edward was sitting with me on the hospital bed; his arms were straps around me, my straight jacket, and I didn't care. I felt safer in his arms. Safe from the officers, safe from the world and the air I breathed. He was the only man I trusted.

When the officer asked me for a description of James, I just stopped talking altogether. I squeezed my eyes shut. As soon as he had asked for that description, James was all I could see: his angry blue eyes, his tight lips, his strong arms, forceful hands. Behind my eyelids, his image was clear, planted stubbornly in my mind, so I opened them again.

"I brought something," Edward said, pulling a photo out of his back pocket and handing it over to the officer. "It's a recent picture of James." Edward looked at me and shrugged. "It was in your room. I figured this would be easier."

It made me gag to think I'd had his picture in my room. I knew which one it was. It had been in a frame. I'd framed James.

The officer eyed the picture, passed it on to Officer Tall-and-Narrow, and then asked if James had any identifying marks.

"He has a scar," I said. "On his upper lip, in the corner." Edward loosened his hold on me so I could bring a shaky finger to my lip. "It's hard to see. And a tattoo, Japanese characters on his shoulder, right here. It means…"

What did it mean? He'd explained it once. Two summers ago on our visit to a private beach in Long Island, the three of us. The two women at the entrance, sitting at a long, pine picnic table, a list of members between them, told us we couldn't bring food to the beach when they saw James carrying a picnic basket. He'd handed them each a croissant and asked them to make this one exception. _We promise not to make a mess_, James had said. Edward and I nodded in agreement. The ladies didn't even look at me. They looked from James to Edward, one pushing her glasses up, the other fingering her gray curls. They said they would allow it, but absolutely no mess. In the sand, James took off his shirt and I asked him about the tattoo. What had he said? I couldn't remember. After he answered, I'd dropped my napkin and the wind picked it up. I chased it around, trying to keep our promise to the old ladies. James had laughed at me running around like a madwoman after a ridiculous napkin.

I turned to Edward, sitting on the hospital bed; maybe he remembered what the tattoo meant.

"It doesn't matter," Edward said. He kissed my temple.

"You remember?"

He nodded. "I'll tell them later."

That was when I remembered, too. _Pain and pleasure_. James thought there was a fine line between the two. _You wouldn't know pleasure without pain_, he had said. I shivered, my eyes teared, and I looked away from Edward so he wouldn't see that I remembered. He knew anyway; his arms tightened again.

"Don't protect me," he whispered. "That's at least the second time you've worried about my reaction today. Nobody matters but you, Bella. You're the only one in the world who matters."

Dr. Cullen wasn't comfortable discharging me until I spoke to the hospital therapist. They made everyone leave the room, even Edward, who said he'd be right outside the door. The police officers needed his statement as a witness anyway, and Edward preferred to give it where I couldn't hear.

I refused to talk about the rape again. I told the therapist that she could read the police report, finally understanding what that report could do for me. I might never have to talk about it again. And then I lied to her and said I would seek therapy and told her other things I thought she wanted to hear, like I planned to tell my family and would have their support. I told her anything I could just to get Edward back to me as fast as possible. She handed me pamphlets and reading material, highly recommended group therapy, said she'd follow up with me, and then gave Dr. Cullen the okay. The victim was discharged.

"Victim," I said, lying against Edward in his bed, my head in the crook of his shoulder. Both of us were on top of the covers. "I hate that word. And officer what's-his-name called me 'the victim' more than once today."

"Officer Trenton," he reminded me. "Yeah, I heard that." He slid his fingers down my still-damp hair. "But you are not a victim. You're a survivor."

I moved my hand to his chest, felt his heartbeat on my palm, then rested my cheek on my hand.

"I can't believe I went after him this morning," Edward said. "I was going to apologize. Fuck! If I had found him and apologized, and then this... I wouldn't be able to be in my own skin right now."

Tears streamed from my eyes, wetting his shirt.

"Bella?" I felt him lift his head.

I looked at him. "I-I did apologize," I sobbed out. "M-more than once."

"Oh god, Bella. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He brought the top of my head to his lips, held them there, then kissed again, and again. He smoothed down my hair and my back.

I took deep breaths and calmed my tears. And when I spoke, the words came without thought. If I'd thought, I would have choked on the words before getting them out. "Maybe I could have avoided this," I said. "M-maybe if I had just let him kiss me, and kissed him back and then told him I didn't feel anything. Maybe he would've believed me."

"No, Bella."

"No, really. He kept asking me to kiss him. He was calm at first. He wasn't angry the whole time. He was hurt. He asked me, practically begged me for just one chance. I kept thinking of you. I didn't want to kiss him, but thinking of how it would hurt you made me refuse him even more." I lifted my face to look at Edward. "You would have understood if I had kissed him, though, wouldn't you? If it was just to prove his theory wrong? You would have understood."

"Bella."

"Maybe I led him on. I was too aloof when I turned him down. Even when he first asked me out a couple of years ago. I said I thought we should stay friends. But I didn't straight up say, 'No, I don't want to date you.'"

"Bella, don't put yourself through this. It's nothing you did or didn't do. He was delusional. He convinced himself he could change your mind. That is _his_ fault, not yours."

"Or maybe if I had talked to him about us before he found out on his own."

"I could have done that, too," Edward said. "I knew how he felt about you, and he didn't even cross my mind when I kissed you. But that doesn't matter. It's not in the equation at all. He may have felt hurt or betrayed, but that gives him _no right _to lay a finger on you!"

"But even when he did stupid things like pinch my arm or my stomach or my butt. I made a joke of it. It made me uncomfortable every time, but I made a joke of it. I never told him that I didn't like it. Maybe by joking with him, he thought I was flirting back."

"No, Bella. Stop it. Maybe, nothing! No matter how many ways you look at this, it will _never_ be your fault. James is a psychopath. We didn't see it, but he is and that is _not_ your fault. It's nothing you did or didn't do. Do you hear me?"

I nodded, swiping my own tears away. He tilted my face toward him and held me there until my eyes focused on his. "Do you believe that?"

My nod was hesitant. He pulled my head against his chest again. I listened to his heartbeat as he rubbed my back. "Believe me. What if I said it was my fault? What would you say?"

"That's impossible." I lifted my head and peered down at him. "You had nothing to do with it. You stopped him."

"Right, but if I hadn't kissed you in the first place, knowing a friend of mine had feelings for you. If I hadn't made him jealous, made him desperate for you, then maybe-"

"I get it, Edward. It's no more my fault than it is yours."

"Good," he said. "Don't forget that." He lifted up to kiss my chin. I settled back down on his chest, back into the rhythm of his heart.

"Have you ever met my friend, Emmett?"

"No." I wiped my eyes.

"He's huge, all muscle. I mean, every man steps out of his way. But he has a weakness."

"Kryptonite?"

"Bella, you made a joke!"

I smiled. It was small, and a little forced, but I did it.

"Women are his weakness. He turns to cheese around pretty women."

"Cheese?"

"Yes, cheese. He melts. Can't even function. It's hilarious. This huge guy turns to stutters-and-mush whenever he tries to talk to a woman. When you meet him, remember what I told you. It'll crack you up. I know it will."

"Thank you, Edward."

"My pleasure, beautiful one."

~::::::~

Eventually we both fell asleep. I didn't even realize I'd drifted off until I awoke with a gasp.

After the third time I jerked us both awake, Edward insisted I take one of the sedatives that Dr. Cullen had sent home with me.

"I keep waking you up," I said.

"It's not that. You need to get some rest, some real rest."

Edward brought me the little pill and a glass of water. I took it down and Edward climbed into bed, holding my back against his chest, his arms wrapping my waist, while we waited for the effects to overcome me. It was early morning when the gray cloud promising sleep finally swept me up. I heard Edward's tunneled voice: "I'm so sorry, Bella. So sorry," and a kiss in my hair that lingered right into my dreams. And the last thing I saw was a slice of sun cutting through the corner of the window blinds, brightening a line across the wood floor. I slept. I slept through the whole day, and when I finally woke up it was dark again and I was disoriented. I had never spent the night at Edward's apartment; nothing was familiar.

I sat up, searching the darkness for something, anything recognizable. The bedroom door was closed. I watched it closely. Something in me knew that it would open. And I knew James would be the one opening it. And then I saw him there, James opening the door. He was calm. He called me "Little B." All I could do was sit there on the bed, tears streaking my face. I don't even think I was breathing. I was sweating, though, so hot, too hot. My heart hurt, it pounded so hard against my chest.

"Bella? You're awake."

I jumped and spun around at the sound of his voice right behind me.

"James." My breathing was back—loud and fast, erratic.

"No. James isn't here."

I felt soft, warm fingers on my arm. The lightest touch. I squinted at him. He was sitting up, so close.

"Edward!" I clutched onto him and he clutched me back. "Where did he go? Did you see him? Did you hear him?"

"No sweetheart, he wasn't here. He's not here. You were dreaming. Just a nightmare."

"I was awake, Edward. I saw him; he came through the door. He called to me, didn't you hear him?"

"Bella, no, he was never here. Don't worry. I'm here. It's just you and me, no one else."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll go check if it makes you feel better."

I chanced a glance toward the door. It was closed again. Or still closed? "Oh, god."

"It's okay."

I shook my head. "It's not okay." And then I looked at him, his face handsome in its concern. "I saw the door open. I saw him come into the room. He was so real. I heard him. I heard his voice. Is it the pills? Or is it… me?"

He held me close, but didn't answer. How could he? He didn't know the answer. It was quite possible that my mind was bordering on insanity. _Please don't fall over_, I told myself. _Please keep your head_. Edward caressed my arms, trying to soothe. It wasn't working.

"Why James? Why did James do this? James." I almost couldn't believe it. Maybe it had all been a nightmare. But then Edward spoke and I knew it wasn't a nightmare.

"I don't know. I never thought he'd be capable of hurting a hair on your body, let alone…"

The memory of James, how he'd hurt more than a hair on my body, and then remembering the sight of him walking right into Edward's room like he belonged here, had me suddenly overly aware that I wasn't wearing pants. A long T-shirt, but no pants. I pushed against Edward's chest and he let me go. I couldn't look at him.

"Can I borrow some sweatpants? I don't care if they're too big."

He got up without a word, sat at the foot of the bed, pulled some black ones out of a drawer, brought them to me, and turned his back while I put them on. It didn't matter that I was still too hot. I needed to be covered. I rolled the waist over twice to keep them up. Facing the wall, I lay down again, my head on Edward's pillow, and I curled up into myself, hugging my knees. Edward knelt beside me, facing me, and his hand came to my shoulder.

"Please don't touch me."

He pulled away as if he'd touched fire. "Bella, I wouldn't-"

"I'm going back to sleep." My breath was hot but my words were ice. I said them knowing they were a lie. I had no intention of closing my eyes. James would be there. I stared at the wall behind Edward, waiting to cool down, waiting for my heartbeat to slow. Edward stood up and walked away.

"Don't leave." I didn't know if I had any right to demand anything of Edward, but I didn't care in that moment. It was hard to care about anything just then, other than fear of being left alone and fear of being touched, all at once.

Edward came around the other side of the bed and I felt him sit down. "I'll be right here." His voice cracked when he spoke. "I'm not going anywhere. And I won't touch you. You just tell me what you need, okay?"

He shifted and lay down, but didn't touch me, and I breathed easier.


	7. Chapter 7

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 7

Edward's apartment was on the fifth floor of his building in the East Village. It was five streets and two avenues away from my old one. And right there, inside the apartment, five floors up on East Seventh Street, was where I remained for four days. The only time in those four days that I stepped outside was when I walked through the sliding door of Edward's bedroom onto his balcony, overlooking the cobblestone courtyard—trees growing full and green, flowers planted with purpose and segregated by color in grids, much like Manhattan. Life. _Overlooking life, _I would think before I stepped back into the apartment, closing life behind me. Blocking it out.

My recovery was mountainous, seemingly unreachable, and my first few weeks at Edward's were the steepest. I wanted to sleep in the comfort and safety that Edward offered me, but I couldn't. Whenever I tried to sleep in his arms, I awoke in a panic. I woke up to a man holding me down, touching me, and even when his hands were soft on my stomach or my face, he was James. It took too long for me to recognize Edward and it hurt us both. So, we just lay next to each other, my back to him and every-so-often I would reach behind, feel for him, make sure he was still there.

"Edward?" I'd say, hating the timidity in my voice. He'd do this thing with his finger, rub it against the back of my hand, letting me know he was there, he was Edward, and I could close my eyes again.

Edward was home a lot. He had meetings Uptown a few times a week, but he worked from home most of the time, painting in the spare bedroom. I followed him in there on my third day at his apartment.

"I'll clear this out," he said, "if you ever want your own space."

On the floor, leaning up against the walls, were dozens of finished paintings, all familiar to me. There was a neatly made bed covered in a brown faux suede comforter that matched Edward's, and the only other furnishings were a couple of easels and a small desk that housed his painting supplies. There was no desk chair. The two easels each held up an oil painting, both new ones, both abstract. The first one, the one closest to the door, was light in color and I swore I saw a river in there, blue-gray, the color of a thick, overcast sky. It began at the left side, skinny at the base of the canvas, widening toward the middle and then opening into swerves and curls of a bluer sky. I saw flowers along the edge and then what could have been buildings, although they weren't standing vertical; they were slanted or curved and only had the impression of windows; none of them lined up. There were quite obvious music notes in the top left corner that seemed to float up and off the canvas.

"I could easily move all of this into my room," he said. He came up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Is that the river?" I asked, motioning toward the painting.

"What river?"

"Is that where we had lunch by the river? Sushi?" I pointed to a small black oval that seemed to be partly in the river and partly on land in the shadow of one of the curvy buildings looming over it. There were matching swirls next to the oval that appeared to be chairs. I looked closer but that didn't help, so I stepped back.

"I painted this when I got home from our tour a couple weeks ago."

Our New York tour, that _had_ only been two weeks ago. Two weeks and two days ago. It felt like months had passed.

"So, that is where we had sushi?" I turned to him.

He nodded. "You're very perceptive. I can't believe you can see that."

"But there weren't flowers there." I pointed to his river's edge at what I thought were flowers, anyway. "There was a vine but no flowers."

He laughed a little. "It's not science, it's art, Bella. When I paint for myself, when I don't have hoops to jump through, there's no objective, really. I just follow my emotions."

"Like that children's book, the bunny who follows his nose?"

He shrugged. "I guess I was happy that day and maybe you were, too. That's why you see flowers."

"So, they're not flowers?"

He gave me a half-smile. "They are if that's what you see."

"You're not going to give me a straight answer?"

"There is no straight answer; it's subjective."

I turned back to the painting. "But those are music notes, there." I pointed.

"Yeah, or birds."

I squinted, and then they were birds, some of them flying in doubles or clusters. They had beaks. I had to readjust my eyes to see them as music notes again. I turned to him, looking up into his eyes. They were smiling just like his lips were.

"Only you and I would even recognize what this really is," I said.

His smile grew and he put his hand on my back, pulling me slowly into a hug. "The music notes, as they flow up? They're in the order of the song I played that night."

I sighed against him, feeling relaxed for the first time in... I wasn't sure how long, seventy-two hours? I hadn't even been that relaxed in my sleep. This painting was something that was just ours, a kind of intimate secret, and somehow, that gave me a moment of peace.

"What about this one?" I walked to the easel in the other corner. That painting was dark, almost all black with very thin lines of deep colors. I saw burgundy, mahogany, violet, navy, no brightness to it at all. I took a step back and looked at the straight vertical lines, the deep, hair-thin colors close together, but not touching, not quite blending. As simple as the painting may have looked, it was actually very intricate. Each brushstroke had to have taken a lot of patience and concentration, and a steady hand. It looked like a wall to me. I thought it couldn't be a wall, so I didn't voice that opinion.

"Um, that one…" He paused. I looked at him, wondering if he was going to continue. He shook his head. "That one's shit."

"Why do you say that? It's your emotions, right? How can it be shit?"

He shrugged again. He seemed uncomfortable talking about this painting, but I wanted to.

"What?"

"I painted that on Monday… after I gave you your pill. Once you were relaxed. I couldn't sleep, so…"

"Oh." I don't know why I had assumed he was in bed with me the whole time. I did sleep through an entire day. How could I have assumed that he stayed in bed? What would he have done for a whole day while I slept? Just lie there, staring at me? I couldn't expect him to do that.

"Anyway," he said, "this room is yours, if you want it."

I thanked him and told him he didn't need to clear it out, told him that I wouldn't mind sleeping surrounded by his art. As it turned out, I never moved into that room, anyway.

That third day, that had been one of my better days. We learned quickly, though, that it was presumptuous to think each day would get increasingly easier.

The first day he left to go Uptown for a meeting, my first Thursday at his apartment, I was tempted to tag along. I could wait in the lobby, safe around people coming and going, not alone in an apartment. I forced myself not to mention that to Edward. I forced myself to stay behind.

Edward hugged me goodbye. "Call me for anything, Bella. Anything. Even if you just need to hear my voice. It won't be an interruption. Okay?"

I nodded.

I kept my hand on him, fingertips on his shirt until I could no longer reach him. Then I double locked the door. I kept checking it to make sure it was still locked, as if I had perhaps imagined locking it, or hadn't completely turned the lock, clicking it into place.

I tried to read or write to occupy my time and my mind, but my mind couldn't focus on anything; it kept drifting, kept reminding me that I was alone, kept focusing on the silence. I put some music on, but that made it worse. If someone knocked or broke in, I might not hear it. I shut the music off, turning the silence on again.

I sat on the sofa wondering where James was, if he was still in New York, and if he was, if he'd try to see me. What would I do if I was ever face to face with him again? Would I crumble and cower? Would I attack him? Would I run?

I could no longer stand where my thoughts were taking me so I took a sleeping pill, pulled Edward's covers over my head, and hoped I'd sleep until after Edward was home again.

When I awoke, the covers were still over my head. I was draped in blackness, and afraid to come out. I lay there, stiff, frozen in my tunnel, scared of what I might see if I let myself emerge. I heard a light knock at the door, just a knuckle.

"Edward?" I asked in a whisper no one would have heard. My heartbeat was probably louder than my voice.

"It's me, Bella. It's Edward. Are you awake? I have to come in, okay? I need to change."

I sat up, freeing myself from the darkness. Light spilled from the windows, and I blinked, my eyes adjusting. "Change for what? Where are you going?"

He sat at the edge of the bed and took a deep breath, as if he was about to give me really bad news. "I tried to get out of it but I have to go to The Lounge tonight. It's my night to play. If you need me to, I'll stay, but I'd risk losing my job there."

"No, you go. I'll be fine. I'll-I'll take another sleeping pill."

He frowned at me. "Is that what you did today?"

I nodded and then shook my head. "I had to."

"I wondered, because you've been sleeping all day. I wanted to take the blankets off your head, but I was afraid of scaring you." He reached out to caress my face. "Any nightmares?"

My eyes closed. "I don't remember."

"What if you come with me tonight?" Edward asked. "We'll take a cab, go straight to the club. We'll be there early, before the crowd, and you can sit with me at the piano until I'm done. Then we'll come straight back here. It could be good for you. To get out."

"Edward, did you…" My eyes fell to the bed. "You never told James you play there, right?"

"No, he never knew. Are you worried about running into him? Because I promise you that won't happen. There's no doubt in my mind that James is gone. He's not in New York, Bella."

"How can you be sure of that?"

He held his hand out for mine and I gave it to him. His fingers squeezed. "I went by his apartment earlier. All of his stuff is there, untouched. There are old dishes in the sink, there's money, cash in an envelope he'd made from his catering job sitting on the counter. After that I went by his school, asked about him. No one's heard from him and they tried to get out of me what happened, said the cops had been there looking for him too. I think he ran out of your apartment that day, Bella, and kept running. He's never coming back. He'd be stupid to come back. You know?"

I nodded. "You're right. He wouldn't come back, would he? They'd catch him and give him what he deserves, and the coward will run from that, won't he?"

We both looked down. James was gone, which was what we wanted, but that also meant that catching him, finding him, would be difficult, and if he had the help of his father and his money, he could be anywhere, free, which was what we didn't want. Free James.

But I couldn't let what James did to me take away _my_ freedom. I couldn't expect to sleep my life away just to escape reality.

"I'll go with you," I said, climbing out of bed. I went to the closet Edward now shared with me and grabbed my jeans. It smelled of cedar in there, and all the clothing hung from wooden hangers. It was neat and orderly, nothing like my closet with its plastic hangers and clothing that was hung in no particular order. Some of my skirts had joined Edward's closet too, something I may have typically chosen to wear for a night out like this, but never again. I wanted to burn all my skirts. I changed in the closet, thinking about the joy I might feel in watching my skirts burn.

"Too bad you don't have a fire place," I said, leaving the closet, closing my skirts in.

"It's ninety-seven degrees outside." Edward wore black slacks and was buttoning up his white shirt. He left it untucked and grabbed for his wallet, sliding it into his pocket.

I let out a small laugh. "Never mind."

"Bella, before we go, I want to give you something. A gift. I hope that's okay. I don't know. I don't want to upset you."

"Why would a gift upset me?" I walked toward him and sat at the edge of his frazzled bed.

"Because of what it is. It just might." He picked up a small box from his dresser and handed it to me. It was light gray and velvety. I looked up at Edward before slowly lifting the lid. Tucked in white satin glittered a pair of small, round, ruby earrings.

"I saw them in a window Uptown. They reminded me of you."

"They're beautiful. I love them." I removed them from the box and put them on. "Thank you."

I wondered why he thought this might upset me. Perhaps because when he'd mentioned his desire to get me earrings we were happy. We were normal. I was untouched by Hell.

He tucked my hair behind my ears. "Come check them out." He took my hand and started pulling me up. I yanked it away, knowing his intention.

I shook my head. "I know they're pretty. I don't need to look."

"Bella?" He lowered his face to mine, his eyes narrowing. "You don't want to look in the mirror?"

My face fell to my lap; I didn't answer.

"When was the last time you looked at your reflection?"

"I don't."

"But you did. Before."

We were silent for a while. The day coming through the windows was deepening.

"Come with me," he said. "Please?"

I let him lead me to the bathroom, and when I looked in the mirror, I avoided eye contact with myself, only looking at my ears, and then I forced a smile, my eyes on Edward through the mirror.

"Why don't you want to look at yourself?"

I turned around. "I'm afraid of what I'll see."

"You'll see you, Bella. Try. I'll be right here."

I turned around again, my eyes closed. I counted to three in my head, and still I didn't open them. I counted again, then opened my eyes a few counts after three, and I let my eyes meet their own reflection. I saw brown, skirted by a little bit of red. Faint shadows had settled beneath them, and I knew what was in those shadows. I blinked that thought away and rubbed my fingers under my eyes, trying to move the shadows from my face. My skin was still pale, the freckles on my nose were still there. My lips were still pink, though dry. I could see lines in them. I licked their roughness. I hadn't really known what I expected to see. But he was right. It was just me in the mirror, only maybe tired looking, a bit worn down. I smoothed my hair.

"What do you see?" Edward asked.

"Just me."

"_Just_ you?" He brought his hands to my shoulders and stood directly behind me in the mirror. "I see beauty. I see strength."

I shook my head.

"You can't argue with what I see." He smiled. "And I do see strength. I see the strongest person I know. And you'll never know how beautiful that is."

"I hid under the covers, Edward."

"You're facing life, Bella. You've prosecuted. You've faced police officers, doctors, your memories, and not because you had to, but because you _chose_ to. And you're going out with me tonight. That was your decision. Strength and fear aren't opposites. Strength is what you use to conquer your fears. To come in here, willingly, and look yourself in the mirror, that took strength. You see? Do you see your strength?"

I turned around, wrapped my arms around his waist, and put my head on his chest. His arms came around me, strong in their hold, just like at the hospital, just like whenever I needed it. Those arms were the arms that had yanked James off me. Edward was the one who'd stopped me from facing a fate far worse than I had. He was the strong one.

But with that thought of James, I had to pull away. I couldn't be touched. And, as always, when I pushed against Edward's chest, he let me go immediately.

~::::::~

The Lounge was bright when we walked in. We shared free appetizers at the bar, and as I ate potato skins, I looked over at the table Edward and I had shared a couple of weeks earlier. How different everything was back then, and how new Edward and I had become, even though we weren't new to each other. All the possibilities that had opened up between us that evening... Were they gone? Would they ever find their way back to us?

Edward's hand came to mine, as if he knew what I was thinking, and as my eyes met his, I saw a small smile land on his lips, a contradiction to the sadness in his eyes.

Patrons began to arrive, and Edward and I took our sodas and made our way to the piano before the place grew packed with people. The piano was in a corner near a bay window, and an open space. So much room around us, and only Edward and I would share it.

I watched his fingers move along the keys, never faltering, never stumbling. I watched his face as he stared straight ahead at the sheet music. I wondered if he thought about what he was doing, told his fingers what to do, or if they just moved where they needed to be on their own accord. Did his fingers read the music?

I was okay there next to Edward, the people seated at their tables, only moving to and from the bar as necessary. I kept my eyes away from them, never letting my gaze land on a face, lock with any eyes. And after Edward finished his last song, he put an arm around me, led me out of the club, not stopping for anyone who called his name, and he pushed me into a cab, his touch never leaving me. I looked up at Edward as we sat in the cab, making our way to his apartment. How long would he feel he had to reassure me with his touch? How long would I need that reassurance?

"What?" Edward asked, feeling my eyes on him.

"Just thank you. Thanks for taking me out. I'm glad I came."

"You're welcome." He kissed my cheek. "I'm glad you were here, too."

The Sunday after James had become an unwanted and irreversible part of me, I lost it completely. My bruises had faded, hardly noticeable anymore, but James hadn't faded from my mind at all. Behind my closed eyes, he was there as clear as if I could reach out and punch him. And sometimes, when my eyes were open, he was still there, coming around corners, and I was frozen. Healing from an attack like mine is inconsistent, slippery at best. And just like in everyday life, I never knew when I was going to slip and fall until I was already mid-tumble. I was grateful that Edward hadn't been there to see it. He saw the aftermath, of course, came running out of the shower, shampoo still in his hair when he heard the crash. But he hadn't seen it happen, hadn't seen me all crazy, and for that, I was thankful.

Earlier that morning, in my sleep, I had rolled over onto my back. In his sleep, Edward had rolled toward me. His arm wrapped my chest and one leg rested over mine. My eyes shot open and everything was black. I pushed on his arm. It was heavy. He was James on top of me again, and my squirming, my whimpering woke him up.

"Bella, it's me," he said, and even though it was Edward, I heard James. _It's me, Bella, it's me, just me_.

Edward was hovering over me, his palm soft on my face. I felt it, James touching my face, and I started pummeling Edward's chest like I had James's, shouting, "Stop!"

And then he was off of me. I didn't feel him anywhere, and just like before, I tightened into myself, eyes, legs, jaw, until I heard the quietest whisper.

"Bella, I'm not going to hurt you."

I opened my eyes and the room was bright with morning sun. He was kneeling all the way on the corner edge of the bed. Edward.

I covered my mouth, then reached out for him. He held just my fingertips. I tugged on him and he inched closer, still hesitant. I tugged on him hard, moving my hands up his arm like it was a rope until he was on top of me again, and I practically strangled him, my hug was so tight.

"I'm sorry." I kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry. I thought you were… I thought you were… him. I know you would never hurt me, Edward."

I felt him let out a deep breath when I said his name. He was relieved that I'd said his name, which made me hold him tighter.

"Please," he said, his voice muffled by my hair. "Don't apologize."

I ignored his request and apologized again, kissing his face.

"Please," he said again. "Don't. _I'm_ sorry. I am so sorry that you have to go through this. You don't deserve any of this. You deserve so much better." He gave me one simple kiss on my mouth, then sat up, pulling me into his lap and just held me. "I think… I think you should talk to someone."

I looked up at him. His eyes were worried and pleading at the same time. I wondered what he was pleading for: my understanding? My compliance that, yes, I would seek therapy?

I moved away from him and sat on my own. "I can't." I shook my head fast. "I can't talk about it yet. Look what just happened when I remembered it subconsciously. Imagine what could happen if I _really_ think about it and talk about it. I just can't do that. I hate thinking about it." I saw James in my mind and my eyes teared up.

"Okay," he said and kissed my temple. "Okay."

It took a lot of convincing and reassuring and lying on my part before he believed that I was fine, and he could take a shower. Once he was out of the room and I was alone, I couldn't help but think about James. Thoughts flooded my mind and drenched me in James. I paced the room, back and forth, drowning in the James that hurt me so bad. I walked the length of the room, sandwiched between Edward's bed and his dresser, suffocating myself with memories of the James that had been my friend. The James I missed. The James I actually _missed_. I began to hate the part of me that missed James. How could I? I had cut James in half, sliced him right down the center. There was the James who hurt me, who scared me, who scarred me. Then there was the other James, the old James, the only James I wanted ever to have existed.

I remembered the last time the three of us were here at Edward's, in the living room, trying to decide how to spend our night, where to go, and none of us could agree so we just ended up talking about it all night —where we could have gone, what we could have done, and laughing. We were always laughing, usually at something James had said, or at his expense. He kept suggesting strip clubs that night, without calling them that, trying to trick me into agreeing with names like "Club Indigo" or simply "Silk." I told him that if they wanted to see strippers, they could go without me. He'd taken the ends of my hair, giving a slight tug saying, "Never." They'd never leave me home alone for a night out at a strip club, he'd said.

I wanted that James back. How could I want him back? My hands came to the sides of my head and just pressed, squeezed, and I didn't even realize I was turning in circles until I saw the floor spinning beneath me. I stopped, and there was James standing against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, a smirk on his lips. I picked up the first thing I saw and threw it at him as hard as I could. It crashed against the wall and shattered over the floor before I even knew what it was.

It was the sculpture Alice had made for Edward in high school. The sculpture of a hand, an arm made into a vase, the hand shaped as if holding flowers, but it had been empty, no flowers. Edward had told me that when she gave it to him for his nineteenth birthday it was the only time he'd ever seen her shy. She couldn't look him in the eye. She had always bought gifts for him, but this one was the first she'd ever made for him. I ran to it and started picking up the pieces. Maybe I could fix it, glue it back together.

"Bella? What was that?"

I turned to Edward, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair full of suds. "I broke it," I said. "It wasn't even an accident. I broke it on purpose." I was shaking my head. "I'm sorry. I know what it means to you. Can we fix it?"

He moved the trash can over and started filling it with the ceramic shards.

"Don't," I said. "Don't throw it away."

"We can't fix it. It's in too many pieces. Don't worry about it."

I sat there for about twenty seconds watching him clean up my mess. He looked unhappy.

"I can do it. I'll clean up my own mess. Go finish your shower. Go!" I shoved on his arm.

He left me to clean up, returning minutes later with a hand-vacuum, handed it to me, and let me vacuum up the rest. Then he turned me toward him, both of us kneeling on the floor.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I didn't sleep well last night. I just need to lie down for a minute. I'll be fine. I promise. Finish your shower." I stood up and pulled him back to the bathroom where the shower was still running. I waited for him to get in, and then I went back to lie down, keeping my promise.

I tried to control my thoughts, lock James out and swallow the key, or whatever. I wondered how Edward would recreate the scene I'd just made if he painted it, if I had hit a nerve hard enough to evoke the emotions to paint. "Still Life with Crazy," I thought and closed my eyes. There was sure to be a lot of black but there would be an awful lot of color, too, I imagined. A turmoil of swirls and circles and pieces of every bright color in existence. Colorful had two interpretations: good and bad. I didn't open my eyes until I felt the back of Edward's finger on my hand.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't sleeping." I pulled him to sit on the edge of the bed and wrapped my arms around his waist, my head resting against his side. He was wearing jeans but no shirt. His skin felt soothing against my arms, like ice on a burn. "I'm sorry about Alice's sculpture, really. I can't believe I did that. I shattered it."

"Why did you? Tell me why."

I sat up and looked at him for a minute. The question wasn't leaving his eyes. I shrugged. "I threw it at James," I said, as if it was the most normal thing ever to throw something at somebody who wasn't even there.

I saw his jaw clench and his lips tighten. He blinked at me. "Bella, you see? Even if you don't want to think about him, you can't help it. You should think about talking to someone who can help you."

I stared at him for a few seconds. "I told you. I can't. You have no idea what thoughts are in my head. I'll never say them out loud. Never." How could I? How could I admit to anyone that there was a part of me that missed James? What kind of person did that make me?

"You're right. I don't know what's going through your mind. I can't even imagine it. But talking to someone who understands what you're going through might help. They can do more for you than I can. And you don't have to talk about everything, you know? You'll just say what you say. Whatever you're comfortable with."

I was shaking my head the whole time he was talking.

"I won't force you. I'm only suggesting. Just think about it, that's all. At least think about it."

"I'm scared."

"I know you are."

"I'm a freakshow."

"No you're not." His hand came to my cheek. "A lot of people go through this. You're not alone and a therapist could help you see that."

I knew he was right. Many people faced what I was facing, or worse. How did they survive it? Go on with life? I tried to picture my future, a sight that would normally include my dreams as a writer, perhaps a book published, but now, there was nothing. I couldn't even picture myself returning to school in a couple of months, let alone where I'd be in five years

"I'll think about it," I said, and watched Edward's eyes water up. I reached over and ran my fingernails through his wet hair, around his ear and down to the nape of his neck, and then I repeated the action. His eyes closed. He was letting me soothe him. I wanted to hug him, give him the kind of hug that maybe he needed, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I broke his sculpture, but was I breaking him, too? Was it fair of me to do this to him? Put him through whatever I was going through? I dropped my hand to his lap and his eyes opened.

"Maybe… maybe I shouldn't stay here. Maybe this was a mistake."

"What?" He shifted on the bed to face me. "Where are you going to go? Back to your apartment? Back to Jessica? She's still away. You'll be alone."

I shook my head. "I can never go back there. I could get another apartment. A new roommate. I know some girls from school I could ask. This isn't fair to you."

"Fair to _me_? Bella, you are welcome here. I want you here with me. You may be scared of being hurt again, but so am I. Nothing scares me more than thinking of you being hurt again. I couldn't care less what you break; it's just stuff. I'll help you break everything if you want. I'll break it all. It would probably make me feel better."

I couldn't help but laugh at that: Edward willing to join my crazy.

"I'm serious. You mean more to me than anything in this apartment. Forget about the sculpture, okay? It's nothing. Will you stay?"

I reached up and touched his face because he was worried. I saw it in his eyes. Worried about my safety, or about my leaving, I couldn't be sure. I nodded. "The sculpture wasn't nothing. I know what it meant to you, the memory it held. But I won't break anything else. I wasn't thinking clearly, but I'm fine now."

"You keep saying that you're fine. But I don't see it. You're not fine. And I don't know what to do. I want to be here for you but I don't know how to help you. What can I do?"

How could I answer that? He knew I wasn't fine and he hadn't even seen me at my worst, when I wasn't even aware of my own actions, my own head. He hadn't actually _seen_ me throw the sculpture—without even thinking about it, without even realizing I was doing it until it was done. What could he do? I put my racing head in his lap, let him brush my hair from my face again and again until my eyes closed. Maybe all we could was just live our lives like this, take turns comforting each other. Maybe this was it, all we had left.

"Just be you, Edward. That's all you can do. That's all anyone can do."

* * *

**A/N**: I appreciate each and every review. :)

I know Bella is experiencing major ups and downs, and some self-loathing/self-deprecation, but she did take some important steps here.

In the research I've done, it's sometimes advised not to coerce a rape survivor too hard in seeking therapy, that what's therapeutic for some people (talking it out) isn't for others. Do you agree with that? Disagree? What would you advise Bella to do? (The story is written and events won't change based on these thoughts, but I'd love to know what you think.)

Also, Bella wanting to burn her skirts, this is a hint that she's still putting some of the blame in the wrong place. :/


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you reviewers, for sharing your thoughts on therapy with me. There were some very interesting and poignant views. I'm also very happy that so many of you are seeing this story as realistic, honest, and respectful, which is exactly where my intentions are and remain. Bella's healing will not be a quick fix, as nothing like this ever could be.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 8

Every Monday for four weeks, parked under the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, a mini-van was being ticketed by police officers. It wasn't until a month after the first ticket was slapped on the windshield, as police were towing the "abandoned" vehicle, when a marshal discovered the decomposing body of a man lying in the backseat. Later, a medical examiner would suggest that the man, a fifty-eight-year-old father and handyman, had likely suffered a heart attack. After the dead man's daughter affirmed that her father had a heart condition and had possibly pulled over on the side of the road to rest, the one question that remained on her mind was: _How could police officers continue to ticket a vehicle and never look inside?_

This was what I read from the New York Times newspaper on my third Monday at Edward's apartment, seated at the kitchen table, sipping on my lemonade. Actually, I hadn't taken a sip since I'd began the article.

I had "why" questions myself. Why did people have to suffer so horribly in this world, and at the hand or the neglect of other humans, or even themselves? I folded the paper, recalling the many times throughout my life when I'd thought the worst thing in the world had happened to me.

I remembered in the beginning of my last college semester at NYU, I couldn't get into a class I needed. It was a literature course, one I had to take to graduate with my major. I was so stressed and desperate that I marched myself down to the professor's office, who also happened to be head of the English department, and begged to be let into the class. My hands were shaking as I spoke to her, sitting opposite her desk, my left leg crossed over my right, and swinging. What would I do if I couldn't get in? I certainly wouldn't graduate in time. I'd have to take a summer class; I'd have to tell my father; I'd have to tell my friends as they readied themselves for graduation. I'd be humiliated and disappointed in myself, and that would be _the worst thing ever_.

"There's absolutely no room," my professor had told me. "It can't be done." But what she could do, she'd said, was grant me permission to take a graduate course that would more than compensate for the credits I needed.

_You saved my life_, I'd told her, smiling, and then I couldn't thank her enough.

And back in the fourth grade, I'd volunteered to stay after school every Wednesday to help the tutor who worked with three Japanese exchange students learning English. I had to go to the bathroom, but every bathroom was locked by then, save for one girls' room that was being cleaned by the male janitor. I was too shy to ask the man to please leave for a minute, so I thought I'd wait. I shimmied and jumped and held myself, and then wet my pants right outside the bathroom door. That, I was sure, was the worst thing that could happen to anyone.

I didn't have a clue about life.

Life was like one of those beanbags kindergarten teachers used to give out to play hot potato with. It was only a matter of time before the seam would loosen, a few threads would split, and the next toss would have all the beans spilling.

Who knows? Before that, you may have been beating the game.

There was a smaller voice, deep inside, reminding me that broken beanbags could be repaired, if only you cared enough to take the time. They didn't have to be tossed away.

I took another sip of my lemonade, my distraction while being home alone. I'd gotten better at staying home while Edward had meetings. When I finally relented to the fact that I could no longer write in my journal other than drawing doodles, I learned to keep myself busy in the kitchen. Fresh squeezed lemonade had become my specialty. I would hand-squeeze each fruit to prolong the process. I ran each one under warm water to loosen them up, making them easier to squeeze.

Edward had brought home a box full of lemons from a client, and without a clue as to what to do with all of them, that was how it started. About ten medium-sized lemons made one and a half cups of lemon juice, enough to fill a pitcher after adding water and sugar.

I loved the way my hands smelled after I was finished. I'd only rinse the stickiness off, but wouldn't use soap so the lemon scent would remain for as long as possible. It was an uplifting scent, and the kitchen was filled with it. I was struck by the scent every time I entered the kitchen and I'd take in a deep breath.

If Edward had meetings two days in a row, it didn't bother me that there was already plenty of lemonade in the pitcher. I'd continue to squeeze lemons and then pour the juice into ice trays, freezing them into lemon cubes for later use. And then, when the ice trays were filled, I'd empty them into plastic freezer bags, tuck them in the back of the freezer, and make some more. Always while I worked, my mind was focused on the task in front of me, concentrating, and my thoughts didn't drift as easily.

~::::::~

Edward had been clearing out my belongings from my old apartment little by little. He didn't want me completely moved out before Jessica returned, didn't want her to come home to a shock. But now that she was finally back, he was picking up the last of it. I asked him to leave my bed and dressers there for the new roommate. I didn't care about the furniture, reminders of where I used to live and what had happened there.

I hadn't returned to that apartment, nor did I plan on returning. A few times I wondered how Edward was able to do it, step foot in that apartment. I wondered what he saw when he entered, if he saw the same scene replaying itself every time. And then what he may have seen in his memory invaded my mind. I cringed, my throat closing up, and it was a good few minutes before I was back in Edward's living room again, perspiration glazing my chilled face. If he'd been reliving what happened while he was at the apartment, he hadn't told me about it and he never complained.

Edward decided he had to tell Jessica about James. He had to warn her in case James contacted her or was a threat to her safety for any reason. He assured me that he wouldn't tell her about my involvement and that he would make her understand that she shouldn't bring the subject of James up around me since we'd been close _friends_.

Jessica returned with Edward, helping with the last of my haul.

"You look pale," was the first thing Jessica said to me, handing me a box of my things.

"Hi, Jess!" I reached with my free arm to hug her.

Edward took the box from me and kissed my cheek. "I'll give you two some alone time." He continued on into his bedroom where he left the box and then he closed himself in his art room.

"What's wrong, baby?" Jessica asked. "You don't look well. Are you feeling sick?"

"A little," I said, truthfully. I'd felt sick for weeks now, although what I had wasn't contagious, or a virus, and it didn't come with a remedy, either. Dr. Cullen hadn't given me a bottle of antibiotics to combat my pain, hadn't told me to take them daily until the bottle was empty to assure there wouldn't be a relapse.

"Come on and rest. I'll make you some soup." She had me lie on the sofa while she cooked on the stove. She insisted, calling it my going away present. That was Jessica. Just when you thought she was the most superficial person in New York, she pulled something like this, something so caring and sincere that you felt bad for ever thinking any less of her.

She talked the whole time she cooked, loud enough so I could hear each squeak of her voice from the kitchen, on the other side of the partial wall. Although she may have let her soft side out for tonight, she could never hide her highly opinionated side; of that, she was incapable. She told me about her new roommate, called him _hot_, but unfortunately, she didn't think he _swung_ her way.

"All the good ones, right? Too good for women, I guess," she said, as if sexuality was a haughty choice. She handed me a bowl, and we slurped our soup together in the living room. "Leave us straight girls with all the assholes and rejects of humankind. And god knows I can pick the worst ones, can't I? I mean, look at James-" She went silent, and a hand lifted slowly over her mouth.

The room fell instantly black, my eyes closing for a second. I opened them again, trying to keep my expression still and blank.

"Bell," she may have said, but I couldn't tell for sure because her hand blocked her speech. She removed it from her mouth. "I'm sorry. That was awful of me."

I touched her arm, hating that I had her apologizing to me when I was being dishonest with her. I shook my head. "Jessica, it's fine. You can mention him."

"But Edward said…" She looked over my shoulder. His art room door was still closed. "Okay, well I'll just say this: You're lucky you never slept with him."

My bowl landed like a brick on the coffee table, slamming so hard that soup splattered over the edges. A wave of nausea hit me and a hand came to my head. I took a few deep breaths and I could feel the tears just barely hanging on. I blinked quickly and reached over the table to hug her. "I'm sorry, Jess."

"What are _you_ sorry for? You tried to warn me."

I didn't answer her, only hugged tighter.

"Bella?" She pulled my arms from around her neck and looked at me. "Bella, this has really got a hold of you. Look at you. That's why Edward didn't want me mentioning it. The way he worries about you is enough to make anyone jealous. You should see the look on his face when he talks about you. He's one of the good ones, isn't he?"

"The best," I said.

"Yep, you got yourself a real nice boytoy." She smiled. "Not even afraid of commitment, moving you right in."

"It's not like that, Jess."

"It's always like that, Bella. I'm not saying you don't have feelings for each other, but guys that look like Edward, face candy, they'll always be boytoys. Take pride in it."

"Eye candy."

"Eye candy, face candy, body candy, you get it. Boytoy!" She called to Edward. I was mortified. "Soups on. Come and get!"

"Thanks," he said, and glanced at me on his way to the kitchen. His bowl joined ours on the coffee table, and he returned to the kitchen for three glasses of lemonade. He took a seat on the floor beside Jessica.

"You're welcome, Boytoy." She patted his leg.

"Stop calling him that," I said.

"Why? Look at him. If he was mine, I'd be proud. You sure you're not gay, Edward?"

"Jessica!" I looked at Edward but he was laughing. It didn't bother him. Not even "Boytoy" had roused anything in him but a sideways smile. It dawned on me that this was something I would normally be laughing at, too. They both looked relaxed in their laughter on the other side of the coffee table. Every muscle in my body began to ache with tension, even my fingers. I was the only one on the sofa, the only one on _this_ side of the coffee table, the only one losing myself, or more plausibly, already lost. I wanted to be on the other side with them conversing easily, smiling, laughing without forcing it. It was exhausting trying to prove that I was someone else, or rather, still the same person I always was. Trying to prove it to others as well as myself... exhausting."

I felt too small and alone on the sofa, so I slid down to the floor. My heart was loud in my ears and my palms were sweaty. I couldn't hear Jessica over my own heartbeat, but I could see her talking, her casual chatter. She must have directed a comment toward me because she was giving me a smile. I tried to smile back, again the forced appearance of normalcy. But I wasn't really with them in the room; I was in my head, desolate, deserted. I tried to get out, tried to _be _myself rather than _act_ like myself, but the more I tried, the farther away I withdrew. Desert grew all around me, separating me from them, enveloping me in this apartment in New York.

Every thing in my mind at that moment was irrational and I knew it, but that was my new reality. I could be traipsing through the day just as freely as anyone, then suddenly, with the flick of a switch, I became caught up in my own rapture. In my head I was crippled and curled up alone, burning sand blowing against my skin, stinging my eyes.

"Bella, you're not well. Lie down again," Jessica said. I did what she said even though I knew lying down wouldn't help.

"What's wrong?" Edward asked. I saw the concern in both of their eyes and didn't even know I was crying until I felt the wetness on my face with my fingers.

"N-nothing," I said, and not because I didn't feel like talking, but because I really couldn't put into words what was wrong. I could think of no logical way of explaining that I was simply on the wrong side of the coffee table. "I wish I didn't cry so much." I wiped my tears and scoffed at myself.

"What? You never cry," Jessica said. "Not like me. I cry when I have a bad hair day."

Edward was shaking his head, the movement slow and slight.

"You just have the flu or something," Jessica said, and they both came to my side simultaneously. Edward's touch was light on my leg and Jessica put her hand on my forehead. "But you don't have a fever." The back of her hand fell to my cheek. "You're cold, but you're sweating. Are you okay?"

I sat up and hugged her, thanking her for everything. I clung to her, hoping to feel less alone while, at the same time, feeling guilty that she'd been taking care of me and had no clue about why. She had no idea of what had happened in the small living room of the apartment she still lived in.

She pulled out of the hug, held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. Her hand pushed all my hair from my forehead and her eyes studied mine. I studied hers right back. I watched her whole face change from a questioning frown to an open expression, parted mouth, raised eyebrows. Understanding. She glanced at Edward, who was as stoic as ever, but still she somehow confirmed what she thought she knew, and then she looked back at me. I gave a slight shake of my head and I didn't even really know what I meant by it. Did I mean to deny the truth or did I mean to ask her not to mention it, to ask her to forget it, to ask _her_ to deny it?

She seemed to know what my shake of the head meant, though, and she complied.

"Don't worry," she said. "We'll still see each other a lot, Bella. Boytoy will let you out once in a while, won't you?"

"She doesn't need permission." His hand came to my knee. "Jess, maybe you should go. Bella could use some rest and we wouldn't want you getting sick."

Tears came to her eyes.

_Please don't cry_, I begged in silence. If she cried there was no way I could hold my own flood gates back. My dam would break.

She didn't cry but when she spoke, her voice shook, her eyes still glistening. "You call me if you need anything." She squeezed my hand. "Anything."

"Same to you," I said.

I fell back to my lying position on the sofa and didn't move an inch while Edward walked Jessica out to a cab. I stared at the door waiting for him to return, praying that it would be Edward who walked in. It was him, and I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"What happened just now?" He was at my side in an instant, feeling my sweaty face.

"Did she say anything to you?" I asked.

"You're shivering." He pulled a blanket out of the chest behind the sofa and covered me with it. "She just told me to take care of you. And that's what I'm going to do." He went into the bathroom and came back with a damp cloth, grazing my face with it. "What's going on? You're shaking."

"There are just… too many thoughts in my brain. I can't turn it off or make sense of it." I brought the heel of a hand to my head. "One second I'm thinking about Jessica calling you Boytoy and how you are so far from a boytoy, and then I'm thinking of James and then I'm angry at myself for thinking of James, and then I'm trying to act like I'm not thinking of anything at all and trying to convince myself and you two that I am actually part of your conversation, but I couldn't tell you one syllable of what was said. I was trying so hard not to fall apart that I fell apart worse."

"Okay." He was still pressing the cloth to my forehead and his voice was soft and calm, his words slow. "It sounds almost like an anxiety attack. My mom gets them sometimes. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe."

After a few deep breaths, my chest loosened and my sight began to clear. I could see the room better and felt less deserted.

"I shouldn't have let Jessica come home with me," Edward said. "I thought it would do you some good to see her, but maybe it was too soon."

"I just. I just didn't want her to notice anything different about me and stir up questions. But she did notice. She knows." I looked at him, actually hoping he'd argue with that. Maybe I'd imagined it all.

"I know."

"She knows because of me, because I no longer remember how to be normal. Sometimes I feel like I'm just on the edge of insanity. I'm teetering. I mean, I actually feel crazy, and one of these times I'm not so sure I'm going to come back from it."

"How often does this happen, Bella?"

"Too often. Like when I broke your sculpture, that was one of the times."

He leaned down and kissed my damp face. "Are you sure you're not ready for therapy yet? Dr. Cullen knows of therapists who specialize in-."

I pushed him away from me, stood up, swayed, still somewhat lightheaded, and staggered toward the bathroom.

"Bella?" I heard him call from behind me. I wanted to ignore him, but I couldn't. Not after all he'd done for me. So instead, I spun around and yelled at him.

"Edward, I just can't! I wish I could talk about it. But I _can't_! You don't know the repulsive things that go through my mind when I think about James. And I'm not even talking about what he did to me. I'm talking about the James that was our friend! I just can't do it! I want to forget it ever happened, even if I'm pretending, but talking about it makes it so much more real! I'm sorry you have to deal with all of this. I am. I'm sorry you have to keep picking up all my pieces like _I'm_ the fucking shattered statue. I hate that you see me like this, and that you have to feel sorry for me." I covered my face so he didn't have to look at me.

He came over to me fast. "None of that matters. This is about you, what's best for you." He pulled my hands from my face and I turned around. "What?" he said. "You can't even look at me now? I'm sorry I mentioned therapy again, all right? I just don't want to see you so hurt and scared anymore. And not because I don't want to help you or pick you up when you fall, but because I don't want you to have to go through this at all."

"Why do you care so much? So we had fun together and we kissed and it felt good, and we slept together. One night. One night was all we had, and we were only dating for two weeks before _this_ happened." I still had my back to him. I couldn't face him.

"Why do I _care_? You know we've been friends for years. You and-" he paused "-James, and me." His voice quieted. "We relied on each other for so long and now we have this bond. It doesn't just break because we have something awful to face. If anything, the connection I feel to you is stronger. I care about you, and I would be here for you even if we'd never started dating. Turn around and look at me, Bella. That much I _deserve_."

I turned around for him because he did deserve it. He deserved everything, and all I was offering him was pain. I saw it in his eyes, even greener now with the wetness that I caused. He stepped toward me, reaching for me and I stepped back on impulse.

He pulled his hands back and sighed. "Okay, Bella. If you need to pull away from me, go ahead. If you don't want me touching you, I won't. But I am here for you as your friend, if nothing else. I'm not going anywhere."

"Edward."

"What?"

"I'm sorry." I was looking up at him and he wasn't looking away. I wanted him to see the apology in my eyes. I wanted him to know how much I meant it.

"You don't have to-"

"Yes I do. I am sorry. I made it sound like what we had, what we have, is nothing and it's not. It's everything. What we have is everything to me, even if it's just friendship. It's all I have."

I took a few steps forward. He didn't move. I put my arms around him and he stood still for a few seconds, maybe a minute, before I felt his arms come around me, too. His cheek rested on the top of my head, and his moving hands soothed my back. "I just feel like you deserve so much more. You're like the perfect man. You deserve the perfect woman. Not this."

"Don't say that." I heard his voice crack, and he squeezed around my shoulder tighter. "Don't demean yourself like that. And I'm not the perfect man. You're the first woman, the only woman, I've ever been this loyal to." I felt him shake his head. His hand came to the back of my head, pressing me against his chest. "You're going through something horrible; it doesn't make you any less of a woman, or a person."

"Ick. Sometimes I hate what I've become. And I'm not saying that so you can try to make me feel better. It's just fact. What Jessica said tonight was true. I never used to cry. I didn't even cry when my mom left for Arizona or when she rejected me and left me alone on every summer visit to go play with her boys. Her boytoys." I kind of laughed at that. "Welcome to the Bell Jar, Edward." I had to make a joke of it because what else could I do, cry again?

"We'll get through this. It's only been four weeks. It takes time. Don't be so hard on yourself. _You_ deserve more than that."

I hugged him tighter around his waist and pressed my cheek harder against his chest. "Oh god, Edward, I love that you just used the word _we_. How do you always know just what to say? Thank you so much for being here for me all the time. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'll always be here for you, no matter what happens with us. I'll be here. And I don't know what I'd do without you in my life, either. So stay in it, okay? Stay in my life."

"I will."

I took a bath with the door open while Edward cleaned up dinner. I couldn't relax naked in a closed room. I shut my eyes, rested my head on the edge of the tub, checking the doorway every so often.

I remembered when I'd chanced showering while Edward was at a meeting. That was back before I'd taken up juice-making in my alone time. I'd shut the bathroom door and locked it. But while showering I heard the front door close and I shut off the water and froze, listening, hearing footsteps. I knew in my mind that the sounds were coming from Edward, but there was that stupid, gnawing question, _What if it wasn't_? That question had an iron grip on me and wouldn't let go.

"Bella, it's Edward," he'd said through the door, and I breathed again, my heart restarting. He'd learned that saying "It's me," didn't always work because James had said it too. It was much faster to bring me back to the present from a flashback, or avoid one completely, if he used his name.

And now as I bathed with Edward home, I had to have the door open. These little inconsistent idiosyncrasies were strange, even to me, but that's the way it was and I had to get used to it. My new life. My life in fear. Unfamiliar. Bella, Abstract.

Edward came to the bathroom door and asked permission to enter. I lowered myself in the bath so that all of my skin up to my neck was hidden and I allowed him to join me in the bathroom. He sat with me on the edge of the tub in silence, and the water began to cool. Edward flicked some bubbles toward my face, asking who was the genius to come up with bubble bath. I smiled, wiping suds from my face, and said that however bubble bath was discovered, it had probably been an accident.

We sat in silence some more. I watched him as he brushed his teeth, his arm muscles flexing, making me laugh.

"What?" he said, his toothbrush in his mouth.

I just shook my head, and asked him to turn around while I stood up and covered myself with a towel. I let the water drain and then brushed my teeth while Edward showered.

That night was the first night I was able to sleep in Edward's arms the entire night. I was already under the covers when Edward climbed into bed and lay down all the way on his side, giving me the distance he thought I needed. I scooted up next to him, put my head on his chest, ear to heart. He smelled of soap and shaving cream, mixed with his own natural smell, and I inhaled the calming scent. I felt his lips on the top of my head and his arms wrapped around me timidly, his hold loose. We didn't say anything more to each other that night. He turned toward me and I fell asleep facing the crook of his neck, and woke up in the morning in the same position. His arms were different than James's. Edward's were still strong, but leaner. And, of course Edward's hair was shorter, no ponytail.

I reached up and felt his hair, and then ran my fingertips along the base of his neck, and he woke up with a smile. We were both smiling. And then we squeezed each other because we were proud and relieved. I could finally sleep wrapped up in Edward instead of wrapped up in myself.

* * *

FYI. The first paragraph was an actual event. I first heard about it over the radio last summer.


	9. Chapter 9

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 9

"Good morning," Edward said.

My hand was still in his hair and I raised my other arm, hugging him around his neck, pressing my face into his bare shoulder. His clean scent was as strong as if he'd just bathed, and I breathed it in. "It actually really is," I said, stroking down his biceps and across his forearm. "I'm in your arms."

He held me closer. "It feels so good."

"And I didn't wake up to a bad memory."

He kissed my cheek. "No nightmares?"

I settled back into his shoulder. "Yes, but let's never move anyway."

My nightmare had been different last night. Instead of a flashback, it was something completely new, and I tried to make sense of it as I rested in Edward's comfort.

I'd been locked in an empty room, all alone, fire blazing around me, searing flames of red and purple. But through the single window in front of me, I saw another me peering in.

"Open it," I told her, but that other me just shook her head.

"Let me out," I said, and then the fire disappeared—no more heat, and outside the window the other me was gone as if she'd been an illusion. A sheer white curtain appeared and air rippled through it even though the window was closed, and that was when I awoke, feeling Edward's arms around me and his breath on my forehead. He was the first thing I saw when I'd woken, and there was no panic in me. Instead, I was awash with an instant calm.

With that feat, I felt I'd overcome something, beaten something. I felt empowered and free, like I'd made it to the top of Mount Everest after weeks of climbing. I could spread my arms up wide and high, reach the sky.

But if my mountain was Everest, and I was now at the top, there was only one way to go from there. That thought was an avalanche in my mind. It engulfed me, buried me. I realized I was never at the peak of any mountain, that it had all been another illusion, as false as the second me in my dream. Behind my eyes, I saw the window, the billowing curtain, and then I saw James, and I began closing up. I was aware of it happening, but there was no way to stop it. Edward felt it too, this change in my composure. I was almost floating away from him, my head no longer on his shoulder, my legs no longer touching his.

"Bella?" He loosened his hold on me and out of his arms I went.

I sat up. "I think. I think I'll check out the last box you brought over yesterday. I slid off the bed, tugging the hem of my shorts down to cover more of my thighs, and went to the box. Inside was a smaller box, my red photo box.

"You found this at the top of my closet." I sat cross-legged and brought the photo box to my lap.

Edward came up behind me, joining me on the floor. "What is it?"

"My memories. The ones I could never leave behind."

I took off the lid and right on top was the book my mother had been reading on the night she left Forks. I picked it up: _The Awakening_, by Kate Chopin. The book was nearly destroyed and threadbare from my frequent reading; the spine was coming loose, and the back cover was detached. It was held together by a rubber band. I opened it to the page my mother had left marked. There was a passage on that page that always stood out to me: Edna clarifying that she was not, and never would be, anyone's possession. She'd said it to the man she loved but shouldn't, because he wasn't her husband. And just like she'd left her husband and children, she would leave him too.

I always wondered if it was at that moment, that talk of possession, when my mother had made her final decision to leave Forks. Did she feel like a possession? Did she feel entrapped by her husband and her daughter? She'd closed the book there, abandoning it right along with the life that had seemed to do nothing for her but hold her back. She'd never finished the book though. Perhaps my mother never knew of Edna's death. Of her suicide. If she'd read on, would her decision to leave us have been different?

When I was seven, I noticed frown lines deepening my father's forehead day-by-day, as he held out for my mother to change her mind and come back to us. I'd told my daddy that when I grew up, I'd marry him and never leave him. After that his moping lightened up some, if only for my benefit. Maybe he'd realized that no matter what had happened to him, his daughter needed him. But I liked to believe that on that day, my comment began the stitching of the wound my mother had gouged.

"A person never realizes how many lives one decision can affect," I said to Edward as I re-banded the book, recalling how my mother had hurt my father and me without a flicker of remorse. And then I thought of what James had done to me and to Edward, all the while convinced he wasn't in the wrong.

Edward's hand came to my shoulder and I sank away from his touch.

"Bella," Edward said, his voice quiet. "Come back to me."

I didn't move.

"Just a minute ago, you were happy in my arms. It felt so right. What happened?"

_That was a minute ago_, I wanted to say. _The entire world can change in just one minute_.

"James happened," was what I said instead.

"But I'm not James. And I need you right now. You left so soon. Come back to me?"

"Edward…" I was on the verge of telling him no, I couldn't right now. Maybe later. But something in his voice stopped me. There'd been the sound of gentle pleading, an almost desperation. He really did need me. I dropped the book back in the box, pushed it all off my lap and turned to him, inching closer, and I leaned on him, allowing him to put his arms around me, but I couldn't move. I couldn't bring my arms around him, couldn't return the hug.

He lifted my face toward his and our eyes met, our faces so close. His fingers caressed my cheek and my eyes closed. I began to relax. His lips came soft and slow to mine. I let him kiss me, but kept my lips still. He kissed again, and on the third kiss, I kissed him back. On the fourth kiss, I dominated the kiss, pulling at his lips, lifting my hand to his shoulder, his neck, then his face. I felt Edward sigh and he broke the kiss. That was enough.

"Thank you," he said. "I know that wasn't easy for you. Maybe I shouldn't have taken it, but sometimes I just need to know that you're still here... with me."

I gave him a small smile. This back and forth, this push and pull, it was as hard on him as it was on me. It reminded me of tug-of-war. If I didn't ease up, eventually the rope would snap. I had to somehow remember, every-so-often, to let go of myself for a little while and try to meet Edward's needs the best way I could—keep our rope together.

"Whatever's going through your mind," Edward said, "just remember last night. That was huge, Bella. That was a leap."

"I felt the accomplishment, Edward. I promise I did. But…" My words trailed off and I never completed them. Completing them would mean bringing up James again, and I wouldn't do that. It was too late, though. James was already in my mind. I began to sweat with a need of my own, a need not to be held so still, so tightly. I squeezed my eyes, hiding my face in Edward's shoulder, refusing my own need. I refused to force Edward to let me go. Not yet. I would wait until he was ready to let me go. But relinquishing that power to him had my heart pounding so hard, he must have felt it, and my arms were making their way to cover my chest like a shield, my hands fisted. In a minute I would be a ball in Edward's lap.

"You okay?"

"I'll be right back."

I left him sitting on the floor, walked out of that room and into his art room, where I sat at the edge of the bed and took deep breaths.

Edward had moved his dark painting of thin lines from the easel to the floor and replaced it with a new, blank canvas. The painting across from me of New York by the river drew my attention. I noticed something I hadn't seen before. To the far right, beyond the buildings where the river opened up wide and blue, was a tiny ferry. It could have been a silver-capped wave to anyone else, but no, it was definitely a ferry. I'd been on that ferry with Edward.

That day with Edward when we toured New York was vivid in my mind, though it seemed it had happened to someone else or in another life. I wanted to climb into that painting, back to that life, back to the person I had once been.

My fingers found their way to my lips as I remembered my first kiss with Edward outside my old apartment, and then the kiss we shared only moments ago. I'd felt desire in my stomach during that kiss on the bedroom floor. It had been enough to allow me to forget the world until the kiss ended and my desire disappeared. What would happen if I indulged that desire? The possibilities terrified me. The promise it could bring or the devastation it could cause was tumultuous.

Maybe, I thought, therapy was something to consider. I imagined lying on a leather sofa, releasing my problems into the world. I could see them manifesting around me, coiling up to the ceiling in haunting smoke and expanding until they were everywhere, swelling, breathing. They had life. I shuddered in the art room.

Talking about it seemed impossible when all I wanted to do was swallow every thought of the incident, of James, erase it all. I decided right then that if I wanted to avoid talking about what had happened, then I'd have to start showing a true and constant improvement. With every day that went by, school was getting closer. I knew that I would have to get myself out the door, by myself, and get used to being around people all over again.

I began leaving the apartment on my own while Edward painted or after he left for a meeting. I would run down the five flights of stairs because I was freaked out about being alone in the stairwell, but once I was outside, warm air in my face, people all around, coming and going, I was okay. I'd walk a little farther each day, until I made it around the block without panicking. I had to make sure that I didn't meet eye contact with any men, and it was always the hardest when I passed one who was walking alone, not with another woman or in a group. I'd stare in the complete opposite direction of the man, pretending to peer into a shop or restaurant window, but never seeing it.

The day after making it around the block, I took some laundry to the laundry mat around the corner. Such a normal activity. I sat there, waiting for it to wash and then dry, a book in one hand, my journal in the other, and neither opened. I kept my eyes on the people entering and exiting through the open door. A woman carrying a heavy canvas bag came in, a little boy's hand in hers. She smiled at me and I mustered a smile for her. She stuffed her washer full, started it up, draped her now limp bag over her shoulder and took her boy's hand, leading him out.

A man entered after her, and it was just the two of us in there. I watched his back as he chose a washer across from me. He didn't seem aware of my presence, but I couldn't avoid being aware of his, his brown hair over his collar, his black and blue striped polo shirt.

"It's hot in here," he said, without a glance in my direction. He went to the glass door and pulled it closed. My heart leapt to my throat and I shot up out of my seat, dropping my books. I couldn't take my eyes off him as I bent down to pick them up. I thought he'd had brown hair, but no, from his profile, it was blond, and I recognized him. James.

_Be strong_, I told myself. _Be strong_.

It didn't seem any cooler, so what did it help to close the door? A door that, until then, had been purposely left open, welcoming customers in. Why did the door have to be closed? My heart sped up faster and sweat pilled at the inside of my elbows, behind my knees, and under my hair. I saw the man glance at me. I couldn't take it. It was stifling in there, and breathing was difficult. I felt strangled. He asked me a question I didn't hear. All I saw when I looked at him was James. I tried to blink the image away, but James was there with every blink. I left my laundry in the dryer and hurried out of there, my books clutched to my chest.

I continued looking over my shoulder all the way home, having convinced myself that the man was following me.

My empty laundry basket was still on the counter when Edward and I returned later to pick up our clothing. I felt silly about my reaction by then and didn't tell Edward the full story. And I wouldn't let that lapse at the laundry mat keep me from trying again, though it wasn't letting go of me easily.

The next day, I called Jessica and asked her to meet me for lunch halfway between our apartments. I hadn't seen her since that evening she came over with Edward, and I agonized over what she might say to me or what questions she might ask, but she treated me as natural as ever. She didn't look at me with sadness, and she kept her usual chatter up.

"I don't know about this place," she said of the Thai restaurant as we took our seats at a table for two. "It's completely empty. An empty restaurant in New York at lunch time is never a good symbol."

"A good _sign_," I said. "It's a little early for lunch, anyway."

"And it's called the 'Wai' café. As in, 'why go here?'"

I laughed at that, and I couldn't tell her how grateful I was for her demeanor, but I marveled at how someone who had always seemed so shallow could be this insightful and such a giving friend. It made me wonder if Edward had spoken to her, asked her for another favor. But perhaps I was wrong about that. Perhaps this was all Jessica, still under the same understanding from when I'd given that one slight shake of my head.

After parting with Jessica, on my way home this hot, late-July day, I paused at a building two away from mine and Edward's. In the curve of the entrance, a homeless man lay curled up and sleeping. A hand hid his face, dirty orange-blond hair, nappy and long, springing from his head like sprouts.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken notice of a homeless person like this. They're so common in New York that after a while, they become another everyday staple of the city, like any non-descript building. They fade away, just another spot on the cement. But they weren't spots; they were people, with memories, with pain, with pasts and futures. They were whole people who'd somehow given up on living. _That_, I thought, _giving up on living, I would not allow myself to do._

Edward was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I got home. He was smiling, and as soon as I was close enough, he wrapped me in his arms. I could tell he was proud of me, even if he didn't say it. I was proud of myself too.

"Come on," he said, and picked up the Frisbee by his feet. "No sense in wasting this day indoors. Let's walk to the park. Ever played Frisbee?" He started walking us in the opposite direction I'd come.

"No," I said. "I'm pretty sure I'm afraid of anything that comes flying at me."

He laughed. "I'll teach you how to catch it so you won't get hurt." He pulled my head toward him with his arm and kissed the top of it. We hadn't kissed in an intimate way since that first morning I awoke in his arms.

~::::::~

As weeks passed, and we entered August, my relationship with Edward remained stagnant. He took me out a lot, getting me away from the apartment, but our behavior toward each other was nothing more than that of good friends. We'd been living together, sharing a room, a bed, for nearly two months now, but there was nothing sexual about it. The only intimacy in our relationship was when we held each other at night. Any kisses were pecks, no tongue, and no passion—nothing like before James.

Fear wasn't as constant in me as it used to be. I seemed to be building a slow-growing tolerance to it, or maybe I was just becoming more accustomed to the feeling. I'd still see James behind my closed eyes, and sometimes when they were open, and Edward was still very careful whenever he touched me. Especially in bed.

Early morning, ten days before school would start, Edward stood in the kitchen watching me crack and fry eggs. I looked at him while he watched me. So gorgeous, leaning against the edge of the counter, his biceps pushing at his sleeves. As handsome as he was, his face looked worn down. Unhappy.

We were not a couple, not in the traditional sense, the normal sense. We were friends again. Friends who lived together and slept together, and cared for one another, but just friends. He was stuck with me, but still alone. For two months we'd been living like this, and how much longer, I couldn't be sure. Daily, as I awoke in his arms, I was reminded of how Edward had felt when Tanya had forced herself into his apartment. I didn't want to be another Tanya. I wanted him to find his happiness.

I told him he could date if he wanted as I flipped the egg over. I tried to make it sound casual, even though my heart was behaving as though I'd just come in from a six mile marathon through the scorching, humid heat. The beats were too fast to count, and they hurt my insides.

"Date?" He stood up straight, eyes narrowing. "I don't want to date anybody but you."

I opened my mouth but he held up a finger. "Before you say anything. I know you're not ready, and I'm not going to pressure you. I'll wait… as long as it takes."

"You don't have to, Edward." The eggs sizzled. I slipped them off the pan onto plates, pulled the toast from the toaster, and tossed them next to the eggs. I turned around and he was there, hands on my shoulders; he caught my gaze and started shaking his head.

"You have to stop saying stuff like that to me." He brought a hand to his chest where it balled into a fist. "It hurts." His eyebrows narrowed and he closed his eyes for just a second. "It's like you're trying to give me an out, like that time after you broke Alice's sculpture, and then again after Jessica's visit. Bella, I don't need an out. I don't _want_ an out. If you don't want me, well, I'll step aside… for you. But if there's any chance for me, I'm here. Is there a chance? Do I have a chance?"

I felt tears forcing their way up from the river in my stomach. I couldn't lie to him. I wanted to be with him, I did, but it was so hard. Not only did he know what happened to me, but he'd found me, saw me, like that. And when I tried to picture what he must have seen, it disgusted me.

"There is a chance. Of course there's a chance. I just don't know when. I don't… Edward..." I backed away from his touch, my eyes on the floor.

"What is it?"

"You were there. You _saw_. You saw me…" I was shaking my head as if I could rid myself of the images, but I knew they wouldn't go anywhere. Those images were always with me, sometimes sneaking up on me when my mind was focused elsewhere, grabbing me, capturing me like a lasso around my waist, tightening, taking my oxygen, taking the pieces of me that I tried, with everything I had, to cling to.

"Hey." He tilted my chin up. "Why do you say it like that?"

I averted my eyes, but he followed with his head.

"Bella." He found my eyes again. "You don't think I see you differently, do you?"

My hands were shaking. I held them together, folding them, but they just shook worse. "How - how couldn't you? Look at me. What happened to _me_? Where did I go? Why would you even want _this_ me? I'm disgusting."

"What?" He took my shaking hands and rubbed them lightly. "You think you're disgusting?"

My jaw was clenched, my teeth biting down hard, and I closed my eyes. "When I imagine what you must have seen, what you must remember every time you think about it… How could you want that girl?" I said it as if she wasn't me. I wished she wasn't me.

He pulled me into his arms. I melted into them—my comfort, my sanctuary for so long. I could have become a part of them, a part of him. Maybe I could just remain there in Edward's cocoon, emerge later a carefree butterfly, float on the breeze. Couldn't it be _that_ easy? Was that possible?

"I do. I want you. I don't see you any differently. What James did is disgusting, but you're not. You could never be disgusting. You're as beautiful as you've always been." He took hold of my face with both of his hands so that I was looking at him again. "What I saw that day…" his mouth tightened "was a psycho attacking you. You, a loving, happy, trusting person. All I could think about was stopping him and helping you. I've never once thought of you as anything less than beautiful. Nobody deserves to be treated the way James treated you, least of all you. You are _still_ you. You feel like you're different, you see yourself differently, but you're not." He stepped back, brought a hand to my heart. "You have the same heart, Bella." He shook his head. "Inside, you're still Isabella Swan…" his eyes met mine, just inches away "…the woman I love."

My shaky hand covered his at my heart, holding it there. "Love?"

"Yes. Love."

"Because we've been friends for so long? Because I need and depend on you?"

"No." He let out a small laugh. "Because I love you. I'm _in_ _love_ with you." He smiled at me and wiped tears from my face with his free hand, his thumb, the backs of his fingers, moving quickly to catch the tears. But he didn't even attempt to take his other hand off my chest. "Because _I_ need and depend on _you. _Okay?"

"Okay." I smiled. I laughed a little.

"See, you still laugh. You do that a lot. Maybe you don't notice it, but I do. I notice every laugh, every smile. They're proof that we will get through this together."

I kissed him. I kissed him in a way we hadn't kissed in months. And he let me. He kissed me back. Our arms moved around each other, pulling, tugging. My body was responding to him, his lips on mine, his tongue, his touch.

"I love you, too, Edward," I whispered in between a kiss, and he kissed me harder, deeper.

I pulled back first and he followed me with his lips, but then stopped. "Sorry," he said, backing away.

He'd said sorry for wanting to kiss me. My eyes fell. Someone else, someone who didn't know, hadn't seen what Edward saw, wouldn't feel the need to apologize for a kiss. A kiss I wanted. I looked up at him, his sorrow-filled eyes. But I didn't want anybody else. I didn't want anyone but Edward, ever. I brought my hand up to his cheek and he closed his eyes. When his hand came to mine, holding it there against him, I took his fingers and led him toward the bedroom. We left breakfast in the kitchen, the furthest thing from my mind.

Neither one of us said a word as we stood facing each other at the foot of the bed, eyes staring until we couldn't hold back any longer and our mouths collided. Our lips were vigorous in their kisses and they only grew in want and speed.

"Are you?" He kissed along my jaw. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I whispered, "I want you, Edward."

He swept his hands up my back, under my shirt, and we both moaned at his touch on my skin. But when his lips lingered on the side of my neck and then kissed, I cringed, my fists stiffening against his back.

"What's wrong? You don't like that?"

"I do. I like it." I pushed his face back toward my neck but when his lips touched, I couldn't help it, I cringed again.

"Bella, is this? Did he kiss you here, like this?"

I considered lying to him but, again, I couldn't. I nodded against his shoulder. I clenched my jaw. I wouldn't cry. Edward would stop if I cried. I felt his body stiffen against me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." He nuzzled his face between my neck and shoulder and he hugged me tight. I felt his fists close then open on my back, his palms and fingers rubbing softly. "Bella, what should I do? Should we stop?"

I pulled back and his hands fell to my waist, but still held on. I looked into his eyes, hoping mine were dry. "I don't want to stop."

He didn't answer. He brought the back of a finger to the top of my throat and trailed to the bottom and back up again. "Is this okay?"

"Yes."

His finger lifted my chin toward him and he kissed my lips. His other hand held the back of my head and he slid his lips along my jaw to my ear. I felt his tongue and then he kissed behind my ear. "And this?"

"Yes." My answer was nothing but a breath.

He turned my head and kissed down the back of my neck. His face must've been buried in my hair. He ran his nose up my throat, and kissed just under my chin. Then he left slow, barely-there kisses one after the other along the center of my throat. "Okay?"

"Mm-hmm." I held his face and returned kisses on his lips, his neck, his ear. I took his earlobe into my mouth, grazing it with my teeth. He let out a soft moan, and both of us were breathing heavy now. "I'm okay," I whispered into his ear. "Let's just… go slow." Then, my lips were on his.

"Slow is good." But even as he said it, both our breathing sped up faster and faster, matching our fervent lips and my heart rate. His hands were all over me and I was pushing away at his clothing. He helped me get his shirt off, then his pants. Then he looked at me, a silent question. I nodded, and he lifted my shirt off, too.

He let out a sigh, "Your body," and closed his eyes, then opened them again. "God. It's been so long." He cautiously brought his hand to my breast and watched my face. When I didn't cringe, but took in a soft breath instead, he kept his hand there, and we relaxed to the bed, and he was on top of me, my legs wrapping around his hips. He moaned.

"Bella. Are you okay?" It seemed with his pleasure came his worry.

I didn't say anything, just kissed his neck. He sighed. He kissed over my chest, down my stomach, pushed my pants down kissing my thigh, the inside of my knee down my calf, my ankles. His kisses were tender. His kisses were love. But once I was naked, completely exposed, panic filled my chest. I tried to ignore it.

_I can do this. This is Edward. Edward_.

I looked into his eyes. He was on top of me again, his hips between my legs, his lips on mine. It felt so good I closed my eyes. Bad idea. James was there. He was the one on top of me. Blue eyes mixed with red.

"I love you so much," Edward said against my lips, and I tasted his love—James disappeared.

"Yes, keep talking to me. He's gone when I hear your voice." I took Edward's face in my hands and kissed him harder, but he was frozen. His lips were closed. He lifted up and looked at me, pushing the hair from my face.

"What do you mean, _he's gone_? You're seeing him… right now?"

My godforsaken eyes teared up again. He was going to stop. I pulled on his shoulders. "It's okay. Don't stop."

He did stop. I tried to bring his face to mine but his head held strong.

"Please, Edward. Please do this for me. Erase it. Erase him."

"Bella," Edward whispered, his eyes held tears and his gaze penetrated so deeply into mine that I had to look away. He traced my hair, around my ear. "Sweet Bella. I can't. I'm sorry, so sorry, but this isn't right. This won't erase him. I wish it would. I'd do this for you in a second if I truly thought it would. But it won't, baby. It just won't."

He rolled off of me, sat up, put his face in his hands, and then his hands were fists against his forehead. "Bella," he said.

My hands were empty; they fell to my stomach.

I turned over, away from Edward, feeling hollow, void of everything but hate. I hated James. The backs of Edward's fingers stroked down my arm before he lay against me, drawing me closer. I felt all of his nakedness behind me, and my eyes poured out onto my pillow. He pushed at my hair. He kissed the back of my neck, and between my shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I can't stand to make you cry. I'm so sorry."

And then he held me, both arms wrapped around my middle, his head against my bare back, while I shook him with my sobs.

"It's all right. We'll get through this. We're going to be all right." He said the words but his voice lacked conviction. For the first time, he sounded unsure.

Whatever I'd been doing, pretending that I could get better on my own, wasn't working. I only continued to damage myself further, and Edward too. If I had any chance of improving, of beating this, any chance of getting back to myself, I couldn't do it without help. And it was too much for Edward to take on alone. I'd just asked him to erase it. I couldn't imagine how hurt he must have felt when I asked that of him. How much he wished he could erase it and how much I wished it too, but it was impossible. I was only depleting myself and Edward of our selves, our souls, by refusing therapy.

Still crying, I turned toward Edward, pushing my tears away but they weren't going to stop. He kissed my eyelids and then just under each eye.

"Edward," I spoke through my weeping, my sniffles, and placed a hand on his cheek. "I'm going to get help. Go to therapy. I-I, of course I dread talking about it, but it's got to be b-better than this. Better than what I've been doing to you, to both of us. I'm sorry I asked you to... erase it." I dropped my head to his chest, and wet it nearly as much as I'd soaked the pillow.

He trailed his fingers down my hair and he kissed my head again and again. "I think that's a good decision. It's for the best." He lifted my face and kissed me. "Aw, Bella, if I could take it all away, I would. I'd take all your pain on me just to get it away from you." He nudged at my tears with his nose, then rubbed his face against mine. It was smooth and felt good. He gave me a slow kiss on the lips then looked at me. "I'll call Dr. Cullen. He'll recommend someone."

I nodded, my cries slowing, my eyes drying up. "I'll get better for you, Edward."

"Forget about me," he said. "Get better for you."

"Edward, can we go to The Lounge tonight? Maybe they'll let you play. I know it's not your night but maybe Sam will let you. And if not, someone will be playing something."

I'd been going to The Lounge with him regularly, every night he played. It was partly because I didn't want to be alone in the apartment at night and partly because I simply wanted to be with Edward. I continued to sit with him at the piano. It was the safest I ever felt, the most relaxed—sitting next to him while he played, losing myself in his music, calming me. Free moments from James.

"Yeah. We'll have dinner there. Stay as long as you want."

"Do you realize that everything you do, you do for me? Always what I want. What about you? What do you want?"

"This is what I want... you." The back of his finger traced along my neck where James had kissed me. I lay still, letting Edward bury those kisses with his caress. "I love you. I want to make you happy. Just like you were before."

"But I love you, too, and I want to make _you_ happy. Let me do that, please. Promise me something. If there's something you need, you tell me, okay?"

"The only thing I need is you."

"Edward, promise me."

He made the promise but I knew it was because I asked him. I knew he would continue to ignore his own needs in place of mine. My eyes closed.

"Here," Edward said, handing me his shirt. "You have to put this on before you fall asleep." He went to a drawer and pulled out panties, and then another drawer for some shorts. "And these." He knew there was no way I could fall asleep naked and wake up feeling safe. He put himself in sweats too before lying down with me again.

I sank into his waiting arms and he kissed my forehead. "I love you," he said, "and I'm glad you know it now."

"Me too," I said. But before I fell asleep, his words echoed through me, _I'm glad you know it now._

~::::::~

"Bella, it's Edward."

I heard a whisper and felt a kiss on the bridge of my nose.

"It's Edward. Wake up."

I opened my eyes.

"Listen," he said.

I heard them the instant he told me to listen: raindrops against the window.

He smiled at me. "Come on."

We moved out the sliding door to his balcony. I couldn't feel the rain because of the balcony floor above us. I reached over the edge to catch some drops.

"It's slowing down," I said.

He took my hand. "Hurry." We ran through the apartment and out the front door. But instead of going down the stairs, we went up. "It'll be faster to get to the roof."

Out on the roof, the rain had slowed to a sprinkle. I lifted my face toward the gray sky and felt one raindrop and then another, and then a few seconds later, another. I looked at Edward, the three raindrops on my face and laughed. Sun was breaking up the clouds, the outlining of them shining in white, so bright, I had to squint.

"We're too late," he said.

"No way," I said. "We were just in time."

I hugged him. He was still without a shirt.

"Edward," I said, my fingers tracing up and down his back, "how long have you loved me?

"A while," he said, and laughed. "Since before..."

"Why did you wait to tell me?"

He dropped his lips to my forehead. "Because I wanted to be sure you were ready to hear it. I needed to know you would believe it. But hasn't it been obvious?"

After taking a second to think about it, everything he'd done for me, how he'd put me before all else in his life, I saw it. He was right. "It has," I said.

I was happy. Happy to be loved, but not only that, I was happy that Edward knew me well enough and cared for me enough to wake me and then race with me to chase the summer rain.


	10. Chapter 10

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 10

"Dr. Hale is ready for you," the woman at the front desk said.

My heart sped.

We'd barely entered the bright room. We had yet to take a seat in one of the square chairs lining the wall, nor had I checked in, but it was already time for me to meet the doctor. I flashed a look at Edward, assuming I would have had at least a few minutes to work up my nerve, and frightened that I hadn't. He pressed his hand to my back. I took the few paces to the only door beside the front desk, then turned. His eyes were there for me, a mix of concern and comfort in them.

"Go on," he said.

"What are you going to do?"

He patted his backpack. "I brought my sketchbook. I'll draw a picture for you." He smiled.

I rotated the handle, heard the click, felt the door ease open without a sound, but I couldn't push it farther. I turned to Edward again.

"I love you," he whispered. "I'll be right here." He kissed my cheek, opened the door for me, and I stepped through. He closed the door behind me and I spun around, reaching for the handle.

"Isabella Swan?"

I dropped my arm to my side. I was closed in, no turning back. I faced the doctor. Beside her huge mahogany desk, she stood wearing a light gray pencil skirt that seemed molded around her hips and legs, as if she'd been sewn into the fabric. Her loose blouse was tucked into her skirt, revealing a narrow waist. Her figure was long and lean, and her blond hair was pulled back into a tight, low ponytail. I don't know what I'd expected, but what I hadn't expected was for her to be so young, or look like she should be on a runway instead of in an office on the twenty-second floor of a skyscraper.

She walked toward me, her lips spreading into a warm, closed smile, as she held out her hand and I shook it.

"I'm Rosalie Hale." She put her other hand on top, enclosing mine in hers. "Have a seat." She opened her hand, gesturing toward one of the round-back chairs facing her desk.

I waited for Dr. Hale to sit first, a large, uncovered window behind her. She looked like a framed photograph—her hands folded on the desk, her face kind and welcoming—appearing for a moment more like an advertisement for rape survivor therapy than the reality of it.

Her office had walls the same taupe color as the waiting area, but it was made even brighter by that window. The only thing on the wall to my left was one large piece of art centered on it. I didn't take the time to look at it. In the corner was a second door. I did take a moment to indulge my curiosity with what was on the other side.

All the furniture matched the dark mahogany desk. Floor-to-ceiling book shelves lined the entire wall to my right. Both hardbound and soft cover books filled many of the shelves, but not all of them. Some held pretty statues or knick-knacks, framed photos, and on one, all alone, sat a crystal vase, sparkling in the light of the sun. A knot of peach and yellow roses stood tall from the mouth of the vase. Something in me wanted to go over and smell them, but I remained in my chair.

Dr. Hale asked me really strange questions first: how my day was going, if I was keeping cool in the heat, and how I liked New York as opposed to Washington. So far, she was nothing I'd expected. I'd imagined she would quickly break the ice with, "So, you were violated, let's talk about that." It seemed as though she was avoiding the subject more than anything. I frowned and broke the ice myself.

"Well, I love New York, I love my boyfriend, but in Washington, I was never raped." I swallowed. My palms began to sweat and I rubbed them against my jeans.

She stared at me with wide, amber eyes. Was she surprised? Didn't she have my file? There was an open folder in front of her. I leaned over to see if it had my name on it.

"Okay, you want to start with the attack?"

But I didn't. I clammed up. It was my turn to stare. A potted plant rested at the edge of her desk, full with variegated leaves of green and burgundy, some long and spidery, cascading over the sides. I leaned forward and touched a leaf. It was paper thin and velvety. Light green outlined the burgundy center, filled unevenly like careless paint splotches. The plant reminded me of myself. I was no longer one solid color. I was fresh and green for the better moments and deep burgundy for the darkest moments. I was variegated like the leaves, and matching in delicacy. Plucking a leaf from its stem, I slid it between my fingers; this piece from the plant that was me. _I've been separated from myself too_, I wanted to tell it, _and just as easily._

"Miss Swan?"

I looked up, absentmindedly folding the leaf, and tucking it into my pocket. "How do _you_ like New York?" I asked.

She smiled another gentle, closed-mouth smile. "You knew your attacker?"

"I thought he was a friend of mine." I heard my own voice crack and bit my lip, shifting in my chair. It was plush and molded easily enough to my body, but still I couldn't get comfortable.

"A close friend?"

I nodded, my lips folded inside my mouth. _One of my best friends,_ I thought, but couldn't voice it. I looked behind Dr. Hale, out the window—remembered my old sheer, spirit-like curtain. I could still see the way it had moved so gracefully in the wind that day.

"Go ahead," she said. "It's a great view."

I walked to her window. The bottom of it came to my knees and the top of it towered over me. I wondered what she saw that made her think this was a great view. All I saw were buildings and way down there, too many cars. They were snails on the street because of all the traffic. The tiny pedestrians glided faster than the cars.

"You should see the views where I'm from," I said. "Just replace the buildings with hills and trees, and the cars with ferns and grass... oh, and the sun with rain."

"Sounds breathtaking." She joined me at the window and pointed. "If you peek to the far right, you can see a few of the tips of trees in Central Park."

I tilted my head, stretched my eyes. It seemed like an awful lot of work just to see tips of trees.

On my way back to my seat, I paused to smell a peach rose in the vase. I was filled with its scent before ever taking a sniff. The fragrance was so clean and strong that if I bathed in its petals, it would have left my whole body smelling just like that rose.

"Why am I drawn to windows whenever I think about James?" I took my seat.

"I think you know the answer to that." She sat behind her desk again. "You feel trapped by your thoughts. Claustrophobic in a sense. A window, or the outside in general, is the opposite of how you're feeling; it represents how you _want_ to feel."

"Free."

She nodded.

"I'm glad you didn't figure I wanted to jump."

"Is that something you've thought about?"

"Jumping out a window?"

"Suicide. In general."

"I'm not suicidal. That was sarcasm, a joke on psychoanalysis/ A bad one."

"Miss Swan." She leaned forward on her forearms. "Some women in your position do contemplate suicide, so if it's something you've thought about, even for a second, I'd like to know."

"I don't think about it. The only time I sort of thought about dying was right after it happened. I was in Edward's lap, he had just called the police, and I thought of what a relief it would be if it were just me and Edward, out of the world. Gone, but together, you know? I don't know if that's death or what, but I wanted Edward there with me, that's all I know."

"Escape," she said.

"Escape," I repeated. "There's something I think about all the time."

"That's why you seek the window." She motioned to it.

I nodded. I knew that even if the window represented escape in my mind that it wasn't true. Even if I went through it to the outside, I still wouldn't be free. I'd still be me. I sat quiet, waiting for her to say something, ask me something. My fingers were pressing together, firm and stiff. When I looked at them, it appeared they could snap backwards if I pressed any harder. I folded them and unfolded them. It bothered me that I couldn't keep my hands still, so I sat on them.

"We don't have to talk about your attack yet," she said. "We can if you want to, of course, but we don't have to. I want you to feel comfortable. I know you've had reservations regarding therapy. We can talk about what you're feeling, or unrelated concerns. Do you want to talk about James?"

I shook my head.

"Why don't you tell me about your boyfriend?"

That I could do. I told her all about Edward. How we met, how we fell in love, how he had been my rock through everything and was the reason why I had any of my remaining sanity at all. She stopped me.

"That's interesting."

"What is?"

"You view Edward as your strength and your sanity? You don't think that any of that strength or sensibility is yours, that it comes from you?"

I thought about what she was implying, that Edward may be my rock, but my strength and my sanity came from somewhere inside me. I wondered if that could be true. Logically, it had to be.

"Edward and I," she said, "we can help get you where you're going, help lead you in the right direction, but without you, the engine, so to speak, there is no forward movement. Understand?"

I nodded. Was I strong? Was that strength I had always perceived as Edward's really mine? Had Edward been right that day he looked at me through the mirror and told me how strong I was? I smiled.

"Beautiful," she said. "Do you do that often? Smile?"

"I don't know. Edward says I do. I don't really think about it."

"Think about it," she said. "I don't mean any smile, though. I mean when you smile for yourself. Whenever you give yourself a smile, like you just did, I want you to think about it. Recognize it. Everyone needs to smile for herself once in a while. We're so busy giving them away, we need to keep a few for ourselves. Don't you think?"

"Smile therapy?"

She laughed. "I guess you could label it that if you want. What I want it to do for you is show you that your trauma, though it is a part of you, it doesn't define you. It's separate from who you are. You have many unrelated happenings and feelings, throughout every day. I just want you to acknowledge them. I'd like you to keep a journal. Write your thoughts and feelings in it. Note your smiles and what might have brought them on. You may share your journal with me, or keep it private. Will you do that?"

"I've always kept a journal," I said. "Ever since I learned to write. But lately I haven't been able to write at all. My mind can't focus anymore."

"Try," she said. "Don't pressure yourself about what you write, just write any thought or feeling that comes to mind at any point of the day. It doesn't even matter if all you get out is one word. Sometimes, one word, the right word, is all it takes."

I nodded, believing I could do that. "Dr. Hale, one of the reasons I'm here… um, why I decided to see you is that I want to have sex with my boyfriend, and I can't seem to do it without seeing James." I don't know if it was because she was young or because she was so personable, but somehow I was able to ask her about sex without feeling embarrassed or insecure. "And for a while, I didn't even think I would ever be able to just be with Edward. Even though I love him, I felt like he knew too much and saw too much. But, it's not fair to him. He's been frozen for so long, waiting for me. I don't want to make him wait any longer."

She looked at me for a second, then up at the ceiling. She seemed to really be thinking about what she was going to say. Her eyes came back to me.

"You say you _see_ James? Is it a memory you have or do you actually see him, a manifestation of him, as if he's actually in the room?"

"It depends. Both happen at different times. When Edward and I tried, I had memories of James, but when I closed my eyes, it was like James was there. I could see him and feel him, sometimes smell him, even hear him." I felt a shudder run though me. "I know he isn't there, but that doesn't change the fact that I see him."

"I understand. Does this happen only during times of intimacy?"

"No. It often happens whenever I close my eyes, but especially during intimacy, and sometimes around strangers, men just trying to be friendly. I had to leave in the middle of doing my laundry because I was alone with a man and had a flashback. I couldn't calm myself and - and I ran out."

"Did the man look like James?"

I shook my head. I barely remembered what he looked like. All I could recall was that he had brown hair that covered his collar, until he turned into James.

"Wait," I said. "He wore a polo shirt. James used to wear those a lot. Almost everyday. Does that mean anything?"

She took a moment to answer me. A few blinks later, she nodded. "I believe it's possible."

Strange that after all this talk of James, nothing had made me picture him until Dr. Hale had made that comment. I saw his face and heard him talking, something he used to say a lot: _Anything's possible, _he would say_, but the real question is: is it probable?_

Dr. Hale's voice snapped me back to her office. "During a flashback, are you aware of your actual surroundings?"

"Not at first. Sometimes I have to talk to myself in my head and remind myself." Saying that out loud, hearing how strange it must sound to an outsider, shocked me. Who has to remind herself about where she is and who she's with?

"How long do the visions last? Do you lose time?"

"They last a few seconds, I guess. Sometimes a few minutes. Not too long. I don't lose hours or anything." I frowned at her, unsure of what she was getting at.

She wrote something down, and that made it worse. The least she could do was tell me what she was writing_. _Either she read my mind or the look on my face was plain.

"I'm only taking notes, Miss Swan. I have a lot of patients, and need to remember what's said. All right? I'm not making a diagnosis."

"Bella," I said. "I just asked you about sex with my boyfriend; I think you can call me Bella."

"Okay, Bella, I want to discuss the visions some more, but first I want to address something else you said. You seem more concerned for Edward's well-being than your own. Do you believe you will be able to repair your relationship with Edward without working on you first?" She pointed at me. "You think this situation is unfair to him. Tell me, what is fair about rape?"

I flinched, then stared at her without answering. We both knew the answers to her questions. This seemed to be a pattern with her, implying her ideas in question form. I was starting to get irritated. Why couldn't she just say what she meant? I shifted in my seat.

"Here's the thing, Miss Swan—Bella—you came to see me because you want to move forward with Edward. Forward movement is healthy, but you need a foundation. You need something underneath you, something sturdy to hold you up." She palmed the desk—_that_ was sturdy. Then she put her hand on her heart. "Something that comes from within you. Edward can be supportive of you, but you cannot rely solely on him to hold you up because as soon as he's gone, lets go, you'll fall. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"You're saying I came here for the wrong reason. That I need to be here for me."

"Yes, but what drove you here isn't important. The important thing is that you're here, now. We're going to work on you. Your healing. The relationship and intimacy will follow in time."

She did that thing where she just looked at me again. I waited for her to do something girlie, like pull her ponytail through her hand or something, but her hands didn't move. They rested naturally and easily on her desk. I'd never met anyone so calm.

"Now, as far as your visions of James… it's quite common, after a traumatic experience like yours, for people to experience what is called dissociation or a dissociative state. Are you familiar with that term?"

"What, like schizophrenia?"

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean that, for a little while, you forget where you are or who you're with exactly. You're back at the scene with your attacker, or maybe even imagining a new scene with your attacker, a sort of dream state. Dissociation often has a trigger and can last for longer periods of time. It seems you are experiencing it in short spurts. I want you to tell me if these episodes lengthen in time."

I nodded. My eyes teared and I looked away. It was one thing to experience it. It was another thing to have someone explain my feelings almost to a tee, and then give it a name. _Dissociative state_. I didn't like that term. It seemed crazy. _Dissociation… _Was that curable_?_ I wondered.

She wrote something down in her notes again. Was she writing that word? _Isabella Swan is dissociative._ I felt a tear leak down my face, but caught it before Dr. Hale looked up from her notes.

"Bella, it's important for you to understand that dissociation, to an extent, occurs within everyone. It happens regularly, often through daydreaming or getting lost in a good book. The difference for you is that it's occurring because of a traumatic event. Like I said, there are triggers," she said, "and we'll have to determine what yours are. Journaling can help with that. For now, I'm going to teach you a technique to help you through such occurrences. I must tell you that your flashbacks are going to continue, especially when triggered, but you can gain some control over them." She came out from behind her desk, sat in the chair next to me, took my shaky hand, and looked into my eyes. My tear-filled eyes.

"You told me that you're aware these are just visions. That James is not literally going to appear in that moment. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, here's what I want you to do next time. I know sometimes you can feel it when it's about to happen. Maybe it seems to get dark or you feel a bit like you're leaving your body."

I nodded. "It does get dark, and I get really hot, and my heart starts pounding."

"When it starts, if your eyes are closed, I want you to open them, look at your surroundings. _See_ your surroundings. Look at everything. Really focus. Use all your senses." She squeezed my hand with both of hers, and then she let go and put her hands on the seat of her chair. "Feel the chair you're sitting in or the floor you're standing on. Is it hard, soft, cold, warm? What color are the walls? What do you smell? See the person you're with. Concentrate on his or her face, features, voice. This will help keep you in the present or bring you back. When you're with Edward intimately, do the same thing. Feel the bed beneath you, the sheets, the pillow if there is one. Feel Edward. If you start to feel James, you focus on Edward's touch. I don't doubt that Edward will be gentle with you, but you be sure of it. He must be the opposite of James so you can keep your focus. Look at him.

"Bella, from what you've told me, I can almost guarantee that you will see James when you attempt sex, especially the first time. And I suggest you talk to Edward about this ahead of time. If you fall into a dissociative state, he must stop. Do you understand?"

I tried to nod, but I might not have moved at all.

"You may panic, but try these techniques we've talked about. You can control your panic, slow it down, rein it in." She made fists with her hands and pulled them against her body, as if capturing my panic.

"Please practice this in your daily life before you attempt it with sex. Don't rush it. Make sure this works for you. We don't want your troubles to escalate, do we?"

I couldn't look at her. My eyes were on her hands in her lap, resting there sort of curved, limp, unaffected. She believed that I could control my panic, even stop it before it happened. She had me believing it. My eyes were puddles filling up—pools. If I looked at her, she could probably dive right in.

"Bella, do you believe that I can help you?"

My tears spilled over. I covered my face.

"It's okay to cry." She set a tissue box on my lap because I was sobbing now, shoulders slumped, head down, hidden, my hands still on my face. She brought her hand to my shaking shoulder. "What are these tears? Are you sad? Happy? Scared? Relieved?"

I couldn't answer her because I was choking on my own breath. But then I nodded because pretty much every word she mentioned, I was feeling. But she'd left out one word, the most powerful word, and that word was "hope."

_Sometimes, one word, the right word, is all it takes, _Dr. Hale had said. Hope was that word. It would be the first word I'd write in my journal.

As I sat there sobbing, I recalled my dream of being trapped in a fire. I'd deserted myself in that dream. But in life, I hadn't. In life, with Edward's and Dr. Hale's guidance, I'd opened my window.

"Is there something I can do for you, Bella?"

"Ed-Edward." I pointed at the door. She went out and when the door closed again, it was just Edward. He took a seat silently beside me, removed the tissue box from my lap, and gathered me into his arms, where I shook us both with my sobs. I grabbed at the shoulders of his shirt, fisted the material in my hands, pulling him as tight as I could get him.

"Bella." His low voice brought about more sobs, more tears. "Bella. Bella. Are you all right?"

When I didn't answer, he just sat there with me, holding me, letting me cry it all out, kissing my cheek every so often, a hand down my hair. He was being my rock again, and I was searching for my strength. I tried Dr. Hale's technique for the first time. I concentrated on Edward, his legs beneath me, the muscles in his thighs. I felt his arms around me, alternately squeezing me close and moving a hand, stroking up and down my back, up and down, and then squeezing me tight again. His hand drifted up my back, and I felt his fingers on the skin of my neck, and then they slipped slightly beneath the top of my shirt, the backs of them rubbing slowly side to side at the base of my neck. I concentrated on his breath against my throat, warm. I opened my eyes, let go of his shirt I'd had such a tight hold of, wiped my tears, and saw the mahogany bookshelf on the other side of Edward, the vase of peach and yellow roses. I remembered their strong scent. Resting my hands on Edward's shoulders, I pulled back and looked at him, his green eyes. He cupped my face and I leaned against his palm, felt his his fingertips, the warmth of his blood. He saw me focusing on his eyes and smiled.

"Bella?"

I kissed the lips that were smiling at me. "I'm going to be okay," I whispered.

He kissed my face, my old, wet tears. No more were coming. "Yeah," he said. "You will be."

When Dr. Hale returned to her office, she shook my hand again and offered to see me two days a week. We settled on Tuesdays at three and Thursdays at one.

"May I take a rose?" I asked, pointing toward her vase.

"I'll buy you all the roses you want," Edward said, seemingly confused by my request. I wondered what he'd think of the leaf I had in my pocket. The one I'd later take out, unfold, and lay on the nightstand by the bed.

"I want one of those," I said.

Dr. Hale pulled two from the vase, one peach and one yellow. The others fell to the sides, filling in the new, open space.

"Here," she said, handing one to me and one to Edward. "They're being replaced tomorrow anyway."

At home, I drew myself a bath and plucked the rose petals one by one, dropping them into the water. I bathed in the peach and yellow rose petals, welcoming their scent into my skin, just as I'd welcomed hope into my heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warning**: This chapter contains some visual recall of rape.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 11:

I continued to meet with Dr. Hale twice a week. After the first few appointments, I'd convinced Edward that I would be okay going by myself. I hadn't had a breakdown since my first visit, not even at home. He had me promise that I'd call him if I needed him and that I'd wait there with Dr. Hale until he arrived. Nothing would keep him from answering his phone from the second he watched my cab drive off until the second I walked through the door on my return.

I didn't tell Dr. Hale this, but even though I understood I had to work on myself first, I was determined to get better for Edward. I needed to offer him something more than distress, needed to even things out in our relationship, and I would do anything it took.

I'd purchased a new journal the day after my first visit with Dr. Hale. I'd gone out on my own to get it, and when I returned home, I flexed its stiff cover, smelled the cool freshness of blank pages, and, after writing "HOPE" in big, capital letters, I wrote about my trip to the store. Writing about an accomplishment on the very first page brought a smile to my lips, and as soon as I felt it, I recorded that, too.

There hadn't been roses in Dr. Hale's crystal vase since the yellow and peach ones. On my fifth visit, there were a dozen fuchsia gerbera daisies, and it was with those bright, disk-shaped flowers that she let me know the time would come when I would have to talk about the details of the rape. She said that the more I talked about it, the easier it would be for me to deal with my fear and to discuss it if I ever went to trial. She encouraged me to talk about it as soon as possible for my own benefit, but didn't pressure me. I didn't say a word to that and she let it go… for now.

As far as I was concerned, the gerberas could take that to their grave.

School had begun. The most difficult challenge for me wasn't being out in public, wasn't being enclosed in a classroom with a mix of male and female students, or even assigned to a writing workshop group of five members, three of which were guys that I had to interact with. No. The most difficult challenge for me was that NYU's creative writing classes were located in a townhouse on West 10th Street, not far from where James had lived. In fact, Edward, James and I had walked past this townhouse together on a number of occasions. And now, every Tuesday and Thursday morning, I was reminded of James.

Even without reason to believe that James was anywhere near New York, I continued to expect to find him coming around the corner as my taxi drove up and dropped me off.

I handed the driver his money and paused for a few deep breaths, grounding myself, before exiting the cab, avoiding the face of any passerby as I held on to the wrought-iron railing, taking the steps toward the grand entrance two at a time.

Seated at an elongated chocolate brown table, inside a bright modern classroom on the third and top floor of the historic, red-bricked building, I volunteered, or perhaps insisted, that the five of us meet at my apartment for group work instead of the West Village restaurants my other group members were suggesting. I'd feel much better with the group of us not only being anywhere where Edward was, but also anywhere that _wasn't _the West Village.

Our first evening meeting would take place when our short stories were due, two weeks away. During those two weeks, I did my best to be friendly with my group, including the three guys, Tyler, Ben, and Eric.

Tyler stood up, pushing his chair out noisily enough to gather bothered looks from other students around the table, and announced to our group that he was heading a few doors down to grab a cup of coffee, and wondered if anyone wanted to join him. Eric, Ben, and Angela were all nose-deep in their stories.

"How about you, Bella? You've been yawning all morning," he said with a laugh.

Despite the perspiration gathering at my every pore with the thought of walking down West 10th Street with a guy I hardly knew, I nodded my head. "Yeah, I could use some coffee." I conjured a smile and followed Tyler around the table, down the stairs and to the street. He may have been talking and I may have been answering with uh-huhs, but all that I was aware of were the other people heading our way. Instead of avoiding them, I searched every face that passed. Not one was James, and I entered the coffee shop with a real smile on my lips.

"What are you having?" Tyler asked as we joined the short line.

"Latte, with one…" I began my usual order, but changed my mind. "White chocolate mocha," I said, "iced. No! Blended."

Tyler tried to pay for mine, but I insisted on buying my own. When he suggested we take a table and drink our coffees there, I hesitated.

"Come on," he said. "I could use a break. How about you? Sometimes my best ideas come to me when my mind is far from my work."

I glanced around the coffee shop. There were enough customers scattered around the room to where I didn't feel threatened by Tyler.

"Why not?" I said, and took a seat at the table by a window and closest to the door.

As I sat across from Tyler, and while he continued talking—this male version of Jessica, I thought—moving his hands in open, animated gestures, I released my journal from my bag and began logging the moment. Another accomplishment.

Tyler's appearance was opposite James. For one, he was black, his skin, hair and eyes, all darker than James. His clothing and his mannerisms, as well, were nothing like James, and therefore, while I remained untrusting and uncomfortable with his presence, he was not a trigger for panic.

Logically, his appearance shouldn't have mattered. If there was one thing James had taught me, it was that anybody could be capable of madness, no matter how much a person appeared otherwise.

But no one had ever claimed that triggers came equipped with logic or common sense.

My palms were sweaty and I shifted in my seat many times, unable to get comfortable, though panic did not reach me.

I wrote it all in my journal as Tyler continued speaking.

My journaling hadn't, by any means, deterred Tyler from his story, nor did I get any sort of sideways glance, or any question about what I was writing. Tyler, as any writer would, likely engaged in frequent writing surges himself.

"Turns out," Tyler was saying, "it wasn't malignant."

"What?"

"My cousin's tumor. It wasn't malignant. It was benign."

"Oh, that's good!" I said, closing my journal, figuring I'd better start listening.

After that day, Tyler continued to be friendly with me. He joked with me, and even brought me a coffee one morning. It was blended vanilla bean; he thought I'd like it. I let myself welcome his friendship, though edged with a trepidation I could never fully ignore.

On Mondays and Wednesdays, I had core classes on the regular NYU campus, and I'd accepted a job at a campus coffee stand. Sharing the burden of bills with Edward was part of my promise to myself of narrowing the gap in our relationship. It was time I contributed more in both presence of self and expenses. Restricting my transportation to taxis alone was proving to be a huge expense. My savings account was evaporating faster than a puddle on the cement under the New York sun.

At the Coffee Stand, I was able to work before classes, between classes, or after classes. During slower times, I could get some studying or writing done. Getting paid to study wasn't a bad arrangement, as far as I was concerned. Even better, I felt safe behind the counter, in my own little shack, and I didn't have to serve the coffee, no chance of spilling on anyone. I only had to pour the coffee, clasp the lid, place the cup on the counter, and push it toward the customer. I had only myself to burn. Edward had already warned me to stop scorching my skin as he kissed the backs of my hands. _At least I'm not burning strangers_, I'd said.

I fingered over another burn on my knuckle as Edward and I sat at the bar, early at The Lounge again, thirty minutes before Edward would start playing. People began trickling in couple by couple, group by group. The lights were dimming to a mere glow.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said.

"I'll walk you," Edward said, starting to get up.

"No, I can go alone, Edward."

"Are you sure?"

Sam, the bartender and co-owner, gave his two cents. "It's thirty feet from here. Do you have to follow her everywhere? You're gonna scare the girl away. It's the twenty-first century, my man."

"Not true," I said. "He could never scare me away." I kissed Edward's cheek as I slid off the barstool.

I passed by the main entrance on my way to the restrooms. A line had formed outside, more and more people entering and heading straight for tables or the bar. On my way out of the bathroom, I caught sight of a man with dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders. It gathered itself into a low ponytail, and I froze.

_It's not James_, I told myself, but my speeding heart and my racing mind both disagreed with reason. I stomped a foot on the floor to feel it, but it was wood, so that didn't do me any good. I lifted a hand to the wall, textured. I moved my fingers over it, trying to focus on just the wall, but nothing seemed to subdue my panic because I couldn't look anywhere but at the blond ponytail. My eyes wouldn't move. And then he turned around.

On one blink he was an older man, somewhere in his forties, a receding hairline, but that blink was over and now he was James.

"James," I said, and my back hit the wall.

"Who?" He stepped toward me. "Do I know you?"

I closed my eyes as he approached. Closer. Too close. "No," I said, willing him to leave.

"Did you call me James?"

"I-I thought you were someone else." I slowly let my eyes open. He couldn't be James. But when I opened them he was still James, and his face was still too close.

"Don't touch me."

"Whoa. Nobody's touching you. What's your problem?"

I attempted Dr. Hale's technique again, but there was no where to look but at the man in front of me.

"Just leave me alone."

He backed up and held up his hands. "No problem." He kept moving backwards. "Psycho chicks," he said under his breath.

Edward was heading toward the piano and I weaved through tables, uncaring of whomever I happened to bump into, and when I made it to him, I snatched his arm, turning him around.

"Bella?" His fingers came to my forehead. "You're sweating. Are you hot?"

"I have to go. Now! I saw James."

"The real James?" He brought his eyes to mine. "Are you sure?"

"No, Edward, I'm _not_ sure! But I have to go. I can't stay here tonight." I closed my eyes and I felt James spreading my legs. I felt my panties tight, cutting in to my ankles. Nausea filled my stomach. "Oh, god!" I heard James telling me he would make me feel good, and I covered my ears as if the voice wasn't inside of me and I could block it out.

Edward took my hands gentle and slow, lacing his fingers through mine. "Bella," he whispered, his lips at my forehead. "You're okay. You're okay. Open your eyes, sweetheart."

I opened them and there were Edward's eyes. Green and glowing in the gold light.

"Can you see me?" he asked, his fingers tracing up my arm. "It's Edward."

"Yes," I said.

"You're here. At The Lounge."

"I know where I am."

"Good," he said, and his hand rubbed my back. "But you want to go?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I have to go. I'll just get in a cab. I'll go straight home and wait for you. I'll be fine. I just have to get out of here."

"I'm going with you."

"You can't." I brought my hand to his chest. "You have to work."

"I can do… whatever I want." He led me to the bar. "Sam?"

Sam was busy pouring liquor into three lined up shot glasses. The bar was getting crowded. I inched even closer to Edward as someone bumped my elbow.

"Sam!"

"What's up?" he said, as if there was nothing at all wrong with the world. His nonchalance angered me.

"I can't stay tonight. You're going to have to take charge of the music."

"It's your night, man." He slid the shots over to his customers and took their money. "Do you see this crowd?"

"An emergency's come up. There's no way I can stay. Cover for me? Just this once. I'll do an extra night next week. I'll do two extra nights this month, no charge."

"All right, man. Go on. Get outta here. But don't say I never did anything for you."

"Thanks," Edward said.

"See ya, Bella." Sam saluted me, ignoring Edward. He may have agreed to cover for Edward but he wasn't happy about it.

I tried to smile but it may have looked more like a grimace, and I lifted my hand in an attempt at a wave.

There were no faces as Edward and I made our way out of The Lounge and to a cab, only shoes. Back at our apartment, I refused to go to bed, so Edward and I sat together on the sofa. He was propped up against the corner between the arm and the back of the sofa, and I was leaning against him, both of his arms around my waist, and he was talking to me about his past again. Not asking me any questions about the night.

I brought it up. "I tried Dr. Hale's technique tonight, but it didn't work."

"Keep trying, Bella. It's worked before. It'll work again. That guy just caught you off guard."

"It's just, I felt the floor, but the floor was wood, just like at my old apartment, and that man, he looked so much like James from the back, and when he turned around, no matter how I tried to focus, all I saw was James."

"After your run-in with that guy, when you found me, were you… were you reliving it?"

"Parts of it." I shook my head fast, unable to tell him which parts.

He closed his eyes. "Bella." They opened again. "Try not to think about it. We're here now." He kissed my cheek, then turned my face to kiss my lips. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yes, I am, now. I'm fine now."

"Here." He pulled my head to his chest. "We don't have to go to bed, just try to sleep." He drifted his hand over my hair, his fingers around my ear and down my neck, and then up and down my arm. I allowed my eyes to close.

That night, sleeping in Edward's arms on the sofa, a gasp didn't come from me, awaking us both.

It came from Edward.

"Bella!" he said, and I jerked awake. He was looking up at me and breathing deeply.

"What?" My question was calm as I peered down at him, raking my fingers through his hair, and his breathing slowed.

"N-nothing." He frowned. "It was a-a dream." His voice was soft and he spoke slowly, confused. "Bella." He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck, moving my hair out of his way. "I was late. I'm so sorry I was late."

There was no need to ask what he was talking about. I pushed against his chest and he let me go, both of us sitting up.

"Edward, you weren't late. You were on time. I expected you at noon."

He nodded, but his eyes were blank. "Just let me hold you." He brought me to his lap, pulling my legs over his, and he rubbed along my thighs. "I'm so glad you're here."

I brought my hand to his neck, tracing his jaw with my thumb. He closed his eyes and I kissed him. He kissed me back. I felt his tongue and heard a low moan in his throat. He wanted more and I'd give him more. I kissed along his face to his jaw and down his neck, then back to his eager lips. I'd give him the one thing that he deserved, the one thing that he would never take from me: myself.

He'd been extremely cautious over the past few weeks with how far things went sexually between us. He could tell now when I had memories of James, just as I could feel them coming on. He could recognize the tension easily in my face or my body language, and he would instantly stop and move away from me. I knew I had to break his cautiousness down. I knew I had to work him up to a point where he couldn't think clearly. So I continued kissing him the best way I could—his throat, over his ears, listening to his breathing and his quiet moans to learn what he liked the most, and then I continued that. I straddled his lap, lifted his shirt and felt his stomach, felt his intake of breath and his lips hardening against mine. I slid my hands up to his chest and he moaned into my mouth, "Bella."

He pressed his hand to the back of my head, pulling me firmer against his lips.

But the more worked up I got him, and the more I felt him giving in and kissing me with a fervor that rivaled my own, I realized what I was doing. I was seducing him. I was building his desire to an uncontainable lust, perhaps playing on the same frenzied desires of the male sex that had swallowed James up and turned him into someone I didn't recognize.

I'd screamed at James and he'd seemed not to hear or care. He had one purpose in mind, and that was sex with me, regardless of my protests. He was no longer human. He was an animal. His voice echoed through my mind. _I'll make you feel good. This is what I do._

Every last drop of my desire disappeared as if flushed down a toilet; it was gone.

I climbed off Edward's lap as though we hadn't just been making out like crazy for thirty minutes, as though I'd just been sitting there casually and remembered I had a task to do. I left Edward with his head leaning back against the sofa and breathing hard, his eyes shut tight.

I was far from him, all the way at the other end of the sofa, when he turned his head toward me, his eyes barely open.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I couldn't do it."

"It's okay," he said, and it was all a breath.

But no, it wasn't okay. I'd worked him up like that on purpose and then slammed on the brakes.

He moved over to me and brought his fingers up and down my arm. "There's no rush." His breathing was still heavy. "I can wait until you're ready."

"I'm sorry I did that. I was trying to make you lose your mind, forget about everything, but then I panicked. I was afraid to see you uncontrolled."

He kissed my forehead. "Bella, no matter how turned on I get, or how much I want you—which, believe me, is a _lot—_I will never be that out of my mind. I'm not like James. Stopping isn't impossible. It's never impossible. If you were ever to tell me to stop, I'd stop. It doesn't matter if we're in the middle of it. You won't have to say it twice. I _will_ stop. I promise you that. And you _never_ have to apologize for it."

I pecked his lips. His eyes closed.

"But there is one thing I have to do. If you're okay right now, I have to go and-" he smiled at me "-take a shower."

I couldn't muster up a smile. "I'm okay. Go shower." I pushed against his arm.

When I heard the bathroom door close, I sprawled out along the sofa, my cheek to the cushion. I was exhausted with trying to live this new life, exhausted with trying _not _to think. But I wouldn't cry. I would not give in to the tears that James had built up strong inside my gut. I swallowed a sob and back down my throat it went, to my stomach, tightening, adding to the river inside me. It felt the size of the Hudson.

~::::::~

On my eighth appointment, just a few hours before my workshop group was expected at my apartment, I sat in Dr. Hale's office frustrated with myself.

"Why can't I just get over it? How long does it take?"

She and I were both sitting in the chairs opposite her desk; we had moved them to face each other. She no longer sat behind her desk on any of my visits. Today, as she arranged her chair to face mine, she had asked me to call her Rosalie.

"Look, Bella. I agree with what Edward said to you. You put too much pressure on yourself. Only three months have passed. You can't rush your healing. You have to move at your own pace. You may never 'get over it' in the way you expect. What you can do is learn to separate the assault with your life now. Help it fade into the background, further from the present."

I looked at her face for a minute, her soft features, the rounded edges of her nose and jaw. She seemed to really believe and understand everything she'd said since I first met her. And she was so young, maybe late twenties, early thirties at most. It seemed like more than knowledge to me. It seemed like experience.

"Rosalie, have you-were you…" I couldn't finish. It wasn't my place. _She_ wasn't _my_ patient.

She offered me an answer anyway. "It's the reason I chose this profession."

I searched her eyes, searched for a sign of a tear, any wetness at all. I didn't see anything. I didn't hear a shake in her voice. Nothing about her demeanor had changed at all.

"Did you get over it?"

"I'm not going to answer that. My answer, either way, won't do you any good."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, if I say yes, it could give you false expectations and if I say no, it could cause you regression. You can't compare anyone else's progress to your own. Everyone's experience is unique and we all deal with trauma differently. Some people are more resilient than others."

I wondered how you could measure resiliency. I wondered how resilient I was compared to Rosalie.

"Have you decided to tell anyone else yet?" she asked. "Family or friends, aside from Jessica?"

"I don't want to." I shook my head. "Alice and my dad? They'd be so hurt."

Rosalie nodded. "Have you spoken to either of them recently?"

"I email them. I try to avoid phone calls. That's been easier with Alice, though, because she's busy with a boyfriend and an internship."

"You know you can't continue to avoid them."

I nodded.

"I have homework for you. Before our next meeting, I want you to call both your father and Alice. No excuses. If you can't get in touch with one or the other, you try again. It would do you good to tell them about your trauma, but I'm not saying you have to do that. Just hearing their voices, their care, could help as well. It could help you to open up, even if at a later date. Does that sound like something you can do?"

"I can do that," I said, nodding, more to convince myself than Rosalie.

"Great." Her hand touched my knee. "And about Edward. How is he handling all of this?"

"Like a saint. I don't know how he does it. I've really freaked out on him a few times—a lot of times, really—and he continues to hold me together. He's my glue."

"Are you sure?"

"That he's my glue? Yes."

"No, that he's okay. Is he talking to anyone?" Her hand left my knee.

"Do you think he should be? Do you think he's not okay?" I sat forward, going over the past few months in search of any sign that Edward was anything less than solid. There weren't many hints, but a few did come to mind. I remembered him saying that nothing scared him more than the thought of me being hurt again. Was that a sign? And that nightmare a few nights ago. Was that a sign, too?

"Have you heard of secondary traumatic stress?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"From what I've read on your police report, I'd be surprised, though pleasantly surprised, if Edward wasn't experiencing that."

"Why?"

She leaned back in her chair and cleared her throat. "There are many factors. One of the weakest is that you want to keep what happened only between the two of you, so he has no outlet. From his point of view, he definitely can't talk to you about many of the feelings he must be experiencing. The strongest factor, Bella, is not only does he _know_ what happened to you, which is often enough to cause secondary traumatic stress, but he _saw_ what happened to you, his love. And James was also his friend, wasn't he? He trusted James just as you did."

Whenever I pictured what Edward might have seen at my apartment that day, I always viewed it as disgusting. Never did I think of how it must have hurt him to see it. But sitting across from Rosalie, a memory crossed my mind: Edward looking down at me as I lay across the floor, his fingers on my face, tears dripping from his eyes, his voice cracking and pleading with me to tell him that he wasn't too late. He may have been crying for me, but that wasn't all. He had been crying for himself, too.

"Oh, god." I covered my mouth. "I've been so self, self-centered."

"You haven't been self-centered. You're inexperienced in matters of trauma and for good reason. Most people are. I'm only bringing this up because if Edward needs some help, if he has stress over this, it can't go ignored. He more than likely has healing to do just as you do."

I left Rosalie's office thumbing Edward a text to let him know that I was on my way, and that I was thinking of him and I love him. Edward was all that was on my mind the entire trip home.


	12. Chapter 12

The Other Side Of Me

Chapter 12

When I entered the apartment, it was quiet. And though the air conditioner wasn't running, the air was cool and I welcomed it, closing the door on the thick, wet, strangling heat that seemed to reach after me from the stairwell. I found Edward in the kitchen, and he wasn't alone. Tyler was with him, over an hour early for our workshop meeting. They were facing each other, Edward still and looking down at Tyler, and Tyler just as still, looking up at Edward, each with a beer in hand. More bottles of beer, open, and apparently empty, stood in a jagged line across the counter.

"Tyler? You're so early."

Tyler looked over at me but didn't answer.

"Yeah," Edward said. "He wanted to talk to you." He laughed. "He told me about your date, and thought he'd ask you out again. Imagine his surprise when I told him I was your boyfriend. Well, I didn't exactly tell him." He laughed again, and it wasn't a happy laugh. It was an unrecognizable laugh coming from Edward. I laughed a little too, but mine was a nervous laugh.

"Date?" I looked at Tyler. "You mean when we got coffee together?" I dropped my backpack on the counter. Then I looked closer at Tyler. Did he have a black eye? It was definitely purpling and swollen. I frowned. "What happened?" I reached into the freezer, grabbed a bag of frozen lemon cubes, and brought it to Tyler's eye. He backed up as the ice touched him, but allowed me to hold it there.

Neither one of them answered my question.

Edward leaned back against the counter, laughed again and shook his head. "Don't touch him, Bella."

"Why not? Are you drunk?"

Tyler nodded. "He's had about five beers in the time I've had one."

"What did you tell him?" I asked Tyler.

"You better talk to him about that. Just understand that I didn't mean it. It was a joke."

"What? Hold this. Stay here." I let go of the bag and it fell. I took Edward's arm and led him to the living room. He set his bottle on the coffee table and sat on the sofa, offering a lazy arm out to me. I walked to him, sank into his side, leaning against his shoulder like it was a magnet. I couldn't have not done it. But I still had questions.

"Edward, you know I didn't _go out_ with him, right? That wasn't a date. I was tired, falling asleep in class, and he suggested coffee. I wanted caffeine. Except... I also wanted to face the challenge of walking on the street with…" I looked down at my hands, having heard my admission out loud. Although I'd never thought of it as a date, would Edward?

"I get it, Bella. He doesn't - or didn't."

"Okay… so why does he have a black eye?"

"You don't want to know." He shook his head.

"You hit him. But why? Because he said we went out? That doesn't sound like you."

"It's not. I can't explain it, not to you."

"You have to give me something, some explanation for what's going on."

"I know him."

"You know Tyler?"

"I was a teaching assistant in his Art History class a few years ago. He was an undergrad. We hung out with the same group of guys… he knew me when I wasn't—" his eyes shifted away from me "—into relationships."

"You didn't like him?"

"I liked him fine back then. He was an okay guy. But..." He took a long pause, and shifted in his seat to face me more directly. "Bella, this isn't easy to talk to you about."

"Just spit it out."

"He thought… he thought I, you know, got around. Back then." He eyed me to see if I understood what he meant. I did.

"So he used to ask me about girls, you know, joke around. He'd ask me how a particular girl was…" He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."

"He asked you how a particular girl was… in bed?"

"Yeah, even if I didn't know the girl, it was just this running joke. It was his way of making fun of me."

"That's why you hit him? He used to joke about girls with you, then said he went out with me, so you hit him?"

"No." He kissed my cheek, his lips lingering, only confusing me more. He was mad at Tyler for our non-date but not me?

"Tell me what happened." I brought my hand to his chest. "If he made you angry enough to hit him, why did you stop, and why is he still here? And why won't either of you tell me anything?"

"Bella, if you want him to leave here in one piece, you have to drop this." His lips were tight, his nostrils flared.

He was out of his mind if he thought I was dropping this. Nothing was making any sense. "Why is he still here? Why didn't he leave after you hit him?"

"I made him stay."

I frowned at him and went back to the kitchen. Tyler was still holding the bag of lemon cubes up to his eye. I took it from him and tossed it into the sink.

"Tyler? Will you please tell me what happened?"

He stared back at me. "I didn't mean it. I thought he was your roommate. All the girls I know have guy roommates. Hell, one of my roommates is a chick. And Edward let me go on and on about how beautiful I thought you were, how out of my league I thought you were, and how I couldn't believe it when you agreed to go out with me. And because you did agree, I had no reason to think you had a boyfriend."

"I didn't go _out_ with you. I grabbed a cup of coffee with you. That was not a date and I do have a boyfriend. Is that it, though? You told him I was beautiful and he hit you?"

"Not exactly. Bella, I said something… disrespectful, and I'm sorry."

"Are you going to tell me what it was?"

He shook his head, looking past me. I turned. Edward was standing right behind me.

"I agreed with him that you were both beautiful and out of his league," Edward said, clenching his fists and his jaw at the same time.

"And? Tell me what happened next."

"I don't want to," Edward said.

"One of you better tell me!" I looked back and forth between Tyler and Edward. "Tyler has a black eye in our apartment, Edward. Caused by you. Tell me why."

Edward looked down like he was a chastised puppy, and when he looked up again, he sighed, and spoke with a slow, reluctance in his voice. "He was talking about you, Bella. He said he'd… 'tap that ass.'" He shook his head, glaring at Tyler, who held up his hands and stepped back. My breath quickened, my skin instantly hot, sweating.

"And he asked, well... let's just say he asked me if I thought you'd be good in…" Edward's breathing quickened too, fuming through his nose, his eyes boring into Tyler.

"It was a joke. Like old times. If you want to hit me again, then hit me, but this time I _will_ fight back."

Edward stepped forward. "You think I care if you fight back? I don't care if you think it's a joke. You don't ask me if my girlfriend is a good _fuck_!"

My heart pounded so hard against my chest that I could count the beats. Edward grabbed Tyler by his shirt, and shoved him back against the refrigerator. The room darkened.

Tyler's next words came out fast and loud. "I didn't know she was your girlfriend. And it was a joke, man. I already told you that."

"That shit is not funny! It's not a joke to Bella!"

When he said my name, he slammed Tyler against the refrigerator again, and the room around me was no longer simply dark. It was black.

I felt James grab my wrist and throw me to the ground. I felt my head hit the wall. My hand came to the back of my head and my legs stopped working. I leaned against the counter, holding myself up with my forearms, but that didn't work either. Too hot—my breath, my body, my head—too hot. I let myself fall to the floor. I hugged my legs, tried to slow my breathing, tried to focus on my surroundings and drown out the sound of my own heart in my head.

"Bella?" It was Tyler's voice. I didn't want Tyler's voice. But it was a start. _Tyler is here_, I reminded myself. And, more importantly, Edward. _  
_

_Edward._

_James is not here_.

I was lifted off the floor, arms around me, lips on my face and then the voice I needed. "I'm sorry, Bella."

He smelled like beer but I didn't care, I focused on that smell, breathing it in. I brought my arms around his neck and tried to hold on tight but I was, in all probability, just barely holding on.

"You're safe," he said. "You're fine." He laid me down on the sofa. I was cold now but still wet with sweat. I shivered. I allowed my eyes to open and I focused on Edward's face, my hand reaching for him. I eyed the room: brightness, not my old apartment, no wood floor beneath me, a soft sofa instead.

"What's going on?" Tyler asked.

"Get her some water." Edward's voice was almost a growl. I let my hand fall down his arm until I reached his hand, and he held mine back with both of his, bringing my knuckles to his lips.

Tyler returned with three glasses of water. I sat up and we all drank.

"What happened to her? Did she pass out or something? Is someone going to tell _me_ what's going on now?"

"No," Edward and I said at the same time. My head was clearing.

"Okay… I'm going to go." He motioned to the door. "I'll call everyone and reschedule."

Edward stood. "Wait." His voice was calm, no menace left. "Maybe what you said, maybe it was just a bad joke. Maybe you're harmless. I don't even fucking know. But you're going to have to…" He stepped closer to Tyler, who took a step back. "You're going to have to stay away from her. Figure out a way to switch groups, and don't look at her or talk to her. I'm not going to tell you why. Maybe you can guess."

Tyler nodded. He looked at me with sympathy in his eyes. I hated that. I looked away.

"I'll leave you alone, Bella." And then he left.

Edward sat next to me on the sofa.

"This might be permanent," I said. "Me. This may be something we're going to have to get used to."

Edward rubbed his eyebrow. "Maybe," he said, taking my hand. "Maybe not."

He tugged on my arm and in an instant I was in his lap, my cheek on his shoulder, my face in his neck. I couldn't be sure if he put me there in his lap or if I put myself there. "Tyler thinks we're crazy," I said. "He might be right."

"At least we have company in our insanity," he laughed and rubbed up and down my back. "I'm so sorry, Bella. That got so out of hand. I knew it. I knew when you started asking questions that the answers would cause a flashback. I was trying to avoid that. What was it? Do you know what the trigger was this time? Was it when I told you what Tyler said or was it when I… was it what I did?"

I remembered my flashback, and I thought I knew what caused it. "I'm not positive. It could have been both. I think it started with what Tyler said, but I was handling that. It was the violence. I'm sure it was the violence that made it all unmanageable."

I wish I didn't do that in front of you. But I was ready to kill him." His lips tightened and his chin... his chin quivered. "All I could see was James on top of you. James on top of _you_."

Looking down at Edward, for once, _I_ pushed the tears off _his_ face. I kissed the wet spots on his cheek, and kept kissing until he opened his eyes.

"Maybe you should talk to someone, too," I said. "Rosalie thinks it's a good idea."

"Maybe. I don't know."

"She calls it secondary traumatic stress. Especially since you found me and because we knew James. We trusted him. It's hard for us to trust anybody anymore."

"Nobody can be trusted." He shook his head.

"I think you should get help," I said. "You could've really hurt Tyler today, much worse than you did. You said you wanted to kill him. Because of James. Because of what he did to me. To us."

"I'll think about it." He looked up at me, pushed the hair back from my face and just looked for a minute. He brought me closer, gave me a gentle kiss and another one. His eyes found mine again. He still hadn't let go of my face. "You are amazing. Worrying about me." He shook his head. "It kills me when I think about what James did to you. _Kills_ me."

I hugged him tight. "I know," I said, finally having an understanding of what Edward was going through, too.

"It was just coffee. What is wrong with guys? Why did he think that was a date? Or is it me? Does, 'Do you want to go get a cup of coffee because you've been yawning?' translate to, 'Do you want to go out with me?'"

"Knowing Tyler, he was probably exaggerating, bragging. But, yeah, Bella, to some guys it means just that."

"Well, then maybe I agreed to a date without even knowing it. It was an awful date. I was nervous and uncomfortable. My palms were sweaty and I was relieved when we got back to class."

"Actually, that sounds exactly like a first date."

"The irony of it, though. Tyler asking you if I'm… if I'm good, when the reality is I can't even do it." I shook my head, looking behind Edward at our closed bedroom door. Even when some asshole asked my boyfriend if his girlfriend was any good, he could never say, _She's the best I've ever had_.

Edward took my chin and guided my face back to his. "Don't think that way. We both know this situation. It isn't fair and it isn't right, but it's there. And, you know? I can't do it either. I physically _can't_ do it when I know what you're going through."

"Not with me."

"What?"

"You can't do it with me, but you could with someone else. I can't do it at all."

"No way. No fucking way. Bella, are you even aware of how wrong you are? I couldn't be with anybody else. It's you and me. Just us. I fell in love with you and you're all I want. I love you. Nothing in this world matters to me as much as you do."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and dropped my head to his shoulder. His arms enclosed around me too.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You're right. I know what I said wasn't true or even fair. I keep putting my feelings before yours. I need to stop that."

"No you don't. That's the way it should be."

"What Tyler did, what he said, why do guys think like that? Why do they just decide whose_ ass _they're going to _tap_, and think they can?"

"Not all guys are like that."

"Were you? Before me?" I lifted up to look at him.

"No." He shook his head. "I know what it sounds like when I talk about my past, but I wasn't like that. I didn't sleep with every girl I went out with, and if some girl was looking for a relationship, I let her go. I didn't pretend or pressure anyone. I can't prove that to you, but I have to ask you to trust me. Based on what you know of me. Who I am." He pointed to his chest and I already knew I trusted him. I knew who he was. "I avoided relationships because I didn't want to end up with another Tanya. The next person I was going to get serious with was going to be the right girl." He may have continued had I not stopped him.

"Okay, Edward, I believe you. But Tyler, he seemed like a little kid to me, always enthusiastic about everything. What he said. That's normal guy stuff, isn't it? You said you guys used to joke about it all the time. It only affects us because of James."

"Bella, believe me, even if James had never happened, any guy says anything like that about you and I'd want to pound his face into the ground. The difference is, I probably wouldn't have. I probably would have walked away. But I couldn't. I hit him. He fell against the sofa and I hit him again. He blocked his face, so on the next swing, my fist came down on his hand, and he kept repeating over and over that it was a joke. That was all that stopped me."

"So you punched the crap out of him and then decided to share a beer or six together?"

"I had to get James off my mind. I kept downing the beer and staring at Tyler, trying to read him. Trying to see if I saw anything in him that looked like might hurt a woman. I realized I didn't really know him that well, and I couldn't let him go knowing you'd have to spend time with him every week unless I fully believed it all really had been a joke. But it's not as if the psychotic parts of people announce themselves. So I didn't even know what I was looking for after a while. Tyler just kept talking, going on and on about how much he likes you, that he has respect for you, that he'd only been joking. Finally he shut up and that's when you walked in."

As Edward held me on his lap, my face resting on his shoulder, I thought about men, and the entitlement they feel to sex, just because they want it. It's theirs. They claim it at a young age and hold it selfishly in their hands. Sexual entitlement at any expense—emotional or physical.

_Tap that ass_.

I thought about Jacob, well before I knew Edward, before I knew someone like Edward even existed. Back then, I'd known people like James existed—didn't know James would be one of them. Before all of that, there was just a boy, Jacob, at home in our field of ferns beyond my fence. He took my hand, pulled me stumbling down the hill, and stopped midway. We were fifteen, lying together on our backs, meshing with the ferns. The sky was filled with roaming clouds, coming together slowly, breaking apart, moving right along, belonging, then unbelonging, in groups, wherever they were headed.

"Look at the dragon," Jake said.

"That's not a dragon."

"Right there, see it?" He pointed at the sky directly where I was already looking.

"Yeah, but it's not a dragon. It's an elephant."

"An elephant? No, see the tail right there?"

"That's not a tail. It's a trunk."

"Well what's the spear doing at the end of it, then?"

"That's a peanut."

"A peanut?" He laughed and looked at me, his eyes round and darker than night. "Okay, you win, but only because you're too fucking cute." He led my face to him with his hand, and started kissing me. Slow kisses at first, then working up, his breathing heavier, his lips strong against mine. His hand traveled up my stomach toward my breast; I pushed it away. His other hand followed. I pushed that one away, too.

"Bells," he said, "let's have sex."

"What?"

"I hate when people do that. Say 'what' when you know they heard you." He turned to his back, his arms folding across his chest. Was he pouting?

"I just… wasn't sure I heard you right. Jake, I'm not ready."

"When will you be? Because I am. Give me your hand." He held his hand for mine and I gave it to him. "See how ready I am?" When he brought my hand to his crotch, I gasped. He misread the gasp and rubbed my hand against him. I yanked away.

"Don't."

He turned toward me, lying on his side, propped up on his forearm. "Are you mad at me?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know what it feels like down there? It's painful."

I turned away from him, my gaze moving back to the clouds. The elephant was gone, broken.

"If you won't' do it with me, is it okay if I go do it with someone else?" Jake asked. "Lauren's probably willing."

"Jake!"

"I'm only kidding, Bells. You're going to be my first, you know that. I'll wait for you." He kissed my nose. "Just don't make me wait too long."

He didn't stop, though, pressuring me. _I'm only fifteen_, I kept saying, my argument losing strength and merit, every time. _I'm not ready_. By the time I turned sixteen, Jake was out of patience. He wondered with sarcasm what my excuse was now.

"I know," he'd say, "you're not ready. But what if something happens? What if we break up? Wouldn't you want your first time to be with me?" He took my hand and looked into my eyes. Even at sixteen, I wondered if he really saw me, or if he merely saw himself reflected back. Unfortunately, I let that speculation pass. It became just another fleeting thought joining hundreds of thousands of others. "Don't I mean enough to you for that?"

Somehow that argument started making sense to me. Maybe it had been so overused, I'd been desensitized, but I began to think about it. So I was nervous, afraid. Once I did it, just went for it, faced my fear, it would be over. Why was I making such a big deal about it? That was the thought process that had me giving in to Jacob at sixteen before I was ready. In his bed, in his room, in his parents' house, I gave in, and I was scared the whole time. I let him take advantage of me, let him manipulate me, make _my_ decision for me. I _allowed_ him do that to me. And I wasn't even truly aware of his manipulation of me until this moment, remembering it.

Then James, I let him take advantage of me, too. I believed him when he said he cared. I believed he wouldn't hurt me. I trusted him so wholly that I even leaned on him at times for strength and support, and he'd hurt me worse than anyone.

Forget about other people's feelings. I'm a man. I want sex. That's my thing;_ that's what I do.  
_

I wondered if at some point with these guys it became about something other than sex. If it became about power, a conquest. These guys who scout bars for someone to take home. Somewhere along the line, does it become more about ego than sexual desire? They spot a woman who's remotely attractive, someone who might appear she'd give it up, and then prowl like wolves after meat. Theirs for the taking. For their pleasure. And maybe even bragging rights. Another mission accomplished.

"Thank you," I said now to Edward, sitting on his lap in the living room. Edward, the exception, the hope that there may be more men like him in the world. "Thank you for existing."

I kissed him deep to show my thanks.

After a few moments of kissing, I felt his hands come to my waist, and just as I anticipated he'd let them head up my ribcage, they moved me aside instead, our lips parting. He took a scoot away from me and his face was blank.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

It took him a while to answer. He shifted and turned toward me, a look on his face of exasperation or hurt. "Bella, there's just - there's something that..."

"What?" I inched closer to him, but he put a hand out and stopped me. He didn't put it in my face, but just slightly toward me, enough so that I knew he wanted me to remain where I was. I sat back in surprise, staring.

"You went somewhere with him."

I started to shake my head.

"Not a date. I'm not calling it that. And I'm glad you were able to go through with it. That was a big step for you. But… why didn't you mention me? He had no idea you had a boyfriend. I mean, what you and I have, it's-it's important, isn't it? This isn't casual. This is serious. Why wouldn't you tell him about me?"

I moved closer to him again and if he tried to stop me, I wouldn't let him. I picked up his hand.

"My mind was somewhere else," I said. "I spent half the time expecting—dreading—the sight of James, and the other half journaling because I surprised myself. I was out, near where James used to live, sitting alone with…" My voice quieted as I realized the weight of what I was about to say. If Edward was already hurt, this wouldn't help any. "A guy."

I covered my face and shook my head. "This is so fucked up." I moved my hands and looked at Edward again, this time unsurprised when I saw pain in his eyes. "But I wasn't really _with_ him, Edward, not in mind. I ignored most of what he said, fixated on my own sort of victory. If I'd had the slightest clue that he was under the impression it was anything more than caffeine between us, I would have told him about you and I never would've gone with him in the first place. What I did… I used him, and I'm not proud of that. But also, because of that, because of me, everything spiraled from there. And now I've hurt you, widening the gap that already exists between us, when all I've wanted to do is narrow it."

"What gap? There's a gap between us?" His voice had changed. He sounded irritated. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, and his body was stiff. "What's going on? I thought we were at least on the same page when it comes to _us_."

"What I mean is-"

"Stop." He stood up. "I can't hear any more. Not now. Not after what happened today."

He started away from me, toward his art room.

"Edward-"

"Leave it alone," he said, then closed himself in.

My first inclination was to get angry right back at him. My eyebrows were already furrowing. But I couldn't submit to that. Not after he'd misunderstood what I meant. I went to his art room and knocked. He didn't answer, so I walked in. He was mixing paint, facing his blank canvas, and didn't look my way though he must have heard me enter.

"Let me explain at least. Before you get mad at me, you have to at least understand what I meant to say."

"Why?" He wasn't looking at me. His paintbrush moved along the canvas in quick, careless strokes. "Why should I listen to how there's a wedge between us when everything I do is to just get a smile out of you? It still isn't enough."

"That's exactly it, Edward. That's the gap I meant. Not wedge. I didn't say wedge. I said gap."

He looked at me then.

"You put way more into this relationship than I do. You've given me so much more than I've ever given you, but I'm working on changing that. I'm working on evening things out. I've failed at that recently."

His face softened, except for the crease in his brow, and he laid his paint brush down on his pallet and placed it all on his desk. He stepped toward me.

"That's what you meant by gap?"

I nodded. "I had to make sure you knew that. You have every right to be mad at me, but you have to at least be mad at the right thing."

He took another step closer. "I thought you meant that there was something wrong with _us. _I thought you were going to push me away again."

"I know what you thought."

"Bella, if that's the gap you meant, then forget about it. That's nothing. There's no gap. You make things even just by trusting me when you don't trust anyone."

He reached for my hand, but I walked over to the bed and sat down. I looked at his canvas. He'd begun covering it in a deep charcoal. "What's that? What are you going to paint?" I asked.

"Just an image I had in my head."

"Something dark. Your frustration with me?"

"My frustration with the day." He reached out to touch my face but I dodged his touch.

"What if I really did think something was wrong between us? You wouldn't want to talk about it? Work it out? You'd just walk away and shut the door on me?"

"No. I'd work it out with you. I had to cool down first. I have to be careful about what I say to you, and my mind was... a mess. I could feel myself losing it. I had to calm down."

I nodded. "I wish you could talk to me."

"There are some things I can't say, and shouldn't say. Like when I gave in earlier and told you about Tyler. I'll tell you this..." He squatted down, and looked up at me. "I'd never give up on you. You have to know that. I just couldn't take it if you pushed me away. Not again. Not after everything we've been through. It would _tear me up_." He looked on the verge of tears. I couldn't see him like that.

I took his hand and pulled him to sit on the bed with me, then I kissed his palm, and placed his hand on my cheek like he'd tried to do a few moments ago. "I'm not pushing you away, Edward. I'm here."

He moved his hand around to my neck and brought my face to his chest, kissing the top of my head.

"I understand now why you have to be careful about what you say. Rosalie explained it to me."

"What did she tell you?"

"She said that she'd expect you to have traumatic stress over what happened, a lot like I do, but that you wouldn't be able to talk about it with me because what you'd have to say could be damaging for me to hear. I hate that. I wish you could open up to me, but I understand why you can't. You're under all this pressure to control every word you say just because of how easy it is to hurt me, or how easy it is to trigger me."

"Yeah. There are certain things I can't tell you. But the pressure I'm under? It's nothing compared to what you're going through."

"But I have you to talk to, and now Rosalie. You have absolutely nobody."

"I can get my stress out through my painting. I can handle it."

"Are you handling it, Edward? Really? Or are you ignoring it like I was? Just waiting for it to go away on its own? Because what happened with Tyler… I didn't see you going to your painting. I saw you slamming him around."

His gaze left mine and remained somewhere else for quite some time. I wondered if I'd struck a chord.

I moved my head, searching out his eyes. "What are you thinking?" I asked.

"Nothing."

I decided to drop it, just as Rosalie had dropped the subject of my exploring the details of the rape. She'd put it out there, and let it go. And even though she hadn't mentioned it since, it was still there, in my mind. I would approach Edward the same way. I knew from my own experience that if he were to go to therapy, he had to be ready for it. It had to ultimately be his decision. It was enough for now to know that the possibility of therapy was rolling around in his mind.

I went over to the painting he'd made with the fine, dark lines and picked it up off the floor. "I've been wondering what this is. It's an emotion you painted. Tell me what it is."

"What do you think it is?"

"At first, I thought it was a wall, but then I thought I had to be wrong. Now I think I may have been right. You've built a wall, maybe, around yourself, protection?"

One corner of his mouth lifted into a half smile. "You're not completely wrong, but it isn't a wall exactly. Not to me. It's a prison, and the wrong people were in it."

He came over to me and pointed at the painting, and I noticed for the first time that it wasn't all lines. There were two small, faint circles at the center of the canvas that blended in with the rest. One circle was brown with a black center and the other was green with a black center.

"Eyes? Yours and mine?"

He nodded.

"But it should be James in it?"

"Yeah."

"And will we ever get out?"

"We already are. We're out, or at least well on our way. The doors are open and they have been for a long time."

I returned the painting to the floor and then stood on tiptoe to hug Edward. He exhaled and hugged me back. "For a prison, it's really beautiful," I said.

"Thanks," he said, and I heard the smile in his voice.

"I'm sorry we argued."

"I'm sorry I-"

I stopped him mid-apology with a kiss. He drew in a deep breath, held my face close to his and kissed me too.

"I love you," I said as he wrapped his arms around me. "I just want this day to be over."

"What if we make it better?" he asked. "Instead of wishing it away?"

"How?"

"We'll go to the park. Just hang out. Like I said, our doors are open. All we have to do is walk through."


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you readers and reviewers. I appreciate your support. It's because of you that I post this story, of course, but it's also because of you that I not only continue to write, but strive to improve my writing. I don't want to let you down. I want to keep this story as realistic as possible while moving the plot along, and there's a very thin line there.

Also, each chapter is improved by my awesome beta, myimm0rtal. She had to go over two revisions of this chapter just because of a few scenes that I didn't think read right, and she did so enthusiastically, getting the chapter back to me within hours. I can't thank her enough!

I'd like to catch you up on timeline, in case you don't want to go back and read previous chapters and do all the math. We're in the second week of September, and Bella is approaching her fourth week of school. It's been nearly three months since James attacked Bella. I'm done babbling now. :)

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 13:

We took the necessities with us: my book bag, Edward's sketchpad, and a water bottle. It wasn't any cooler outside than it had been in the stairwell. The evening heat had settled heavily over Manhattan, rebounding off the cement and climbing back up, doubling up on us. I adjusted my backpack over my shoulder where sweat had already gathered beneath the strap.

The old woman who lived across the street three floors up was watching out her window. She had her pillow over the windowsill, resting her arms against it, her head out the window, just looking. I was sure she had a lot to see, sure that what went on at this end of East Seventh was better than TV.

"Hello, dear," she called with a friendly smile, as if she knew me, waving with her whole arm like I was really far away and wouldn't be able to see a smaller wave.

I smiled and waved back. Edward put his arm around me and we continued the few blocks to the park, past the dog run, past a few obligatory New Yorkers with dyed black hair and pale white skin, crazy enough to wear leather pants in this heat. In shorts, I'd swiped sweat drippings from my thighs several times before we'd even approached the park.

I'd learned from locals that a little over a decade ago in this park, used heroin needles were more common than green grass. But now and for years previous, the park was clean, the grass green and well-kept. We found a shady spot under a big Ash tree, removed our shoes, and lay down on our stomachs. I took out my book, Edward began sketching, and without a word we escaped into our own separate worlds, while one of my bare feet and one of his absently found each other, tangling together, keeping our bodies meshed in this world. My mind was on my reading, purging itself of the earlier contents of the day, replacing it all with the poetics of Chaucer.

Edward touched my face with his knuckle. I looked at him and he was smiling. I smiled back. "I love your smile," he said.

"You're flirting with me? Don't you have work to do?"

"I'd rather look at you. Go ahead and read. Let me watch you."

"I think you're still a little drunk." I pushed his foot with mine and put my nose back in my book. Minutes later he nudged me with his elbow and tilted his sketch book my way. Our bare feet were intertwining in pencil shadings, my smile in the top corner. It made me laugh. "What children's book is that for?"

"It's for my memory bank." He tapped his pencil to his forehead.

I gave him my smile again and he touched it, then kissed it. "What about your work?" I asked.

"I can't turn it off and on. I need the right inspiration. Right now the only thing inspiring me is you."

I turned to my side and rubbed the scruff on his face with the backs of my fingers, and kissed his lips.

"I'm hungry," I said, rolling onto my back. Late sun seemed to get caught in the abundance of small flickering leaves overhead. The rays didn't make it to the ground, no need to squint.

"Kissing me makes you think of food?"

"I'm not sure if I'm so much hungry or if I'm just having brain overload from too much Chaucer." We were both giving in to procrastination.

Edward sat up, reaching into his pockets. "I didn't bring my wallet. Do you have any money?"

I shook my head, reluctantly bringing my book back to my face. He lay down on his back. "We'll go home soon."

"Wait a minute." I grabbed my backpack, shoved my hand into the little pocket, felt through pens and gum packets, an old raisinette, folded up pieces of paper I'd written random thoughts on, to the bottom where I felt some change. "From my many trips to the vending machine," I said, pulling it all out. I counted it. "$3.27."

"That's enough for a slice of pizza. Come on."

"You can stay here," I said. "I'll go get it."

"Alone?"

"I want to go alone."

"Bella, after today-"

"Edward, I need to do this. What happened earlier, that flashback, that…" I shook my head "...disappearance from reality. I need to prove that I can stand on my own feet, you know? Look, people are everywhere."

We both looked around. A few yards away from us some guy was practicing yoga, standing on his head, his legs criss-crossed above him as if sitting upside down. To his right, on a small mound, a group of teenagers sat in a circle sharing a joint, not even trying to be discreet. Beyond that, people sitting or lying in the grass, others just passing through the park. Movement everywhere.

"Nothing's going to happen. It's right across the street."

He looked at his watch. "You have ten minutes," he said. "Then I'm coming after you."

I ruffled his hair. "Okay, Mr. Edward. Be right back."

His hand clasped my fingers and he pulled me on top of him. "Not without a kiss goodbye."

I kissed him. "Not goodbye. See you in less than ten minutes."

I headed toward the street. On my way, I was distracted by fireflies flickering around a tree. They weren't easy to see. It was almost dusk but not dark enough for their lights to really stand out.

"They're flirting," I heard a raspy voice, and looked down to see an obvious homeless man sitting in the grass, white hair, white beard, brown leathery skin. "I can show you how to catch 'em. You need a jar and a napkin. Do you have a jar?"

I shook my head, looking back at the fireflies, thinking of jarring them up. "I don't want to catch them. Just watching."

"I used to catch 'em when I was a kid. Used to keep 'em in a jar, bring 'em to my room. They lit up for me, glowed about my room." His hand waved in a curve in front of him, his fingers wiggling. When he smiled, his teeth were the color of sand. I questioned which was more significant: the color of his teeth, or the fact that he smiled.

"I let 'em go later," he said. "Didn't let 'em die, didn't torture 'em."

I nodded, and thought of him as a little kid, in a room glowing with the light of fireflies, a kid with dreams. I wondered if he'd ever envisioned ending up here, sitting in a park in the East Village without a home, without money, talking to a stranger about his memories. I wanted to tell him that I never thought I'd end up here either, in this life James had given me. I wanted to tell him that perhaps nobody ended up where they dreamed they would.

"Spare any change, miss?"

I looked down at him, then across the park to the street. All the way over there for pizza, by myself, James already on my mind. I lost my appetite. I reached into my pocket, handed him the $3.27 in coins, and went back to Edward. The yoga guy was still on his head, his legs straight up in the air now; people had gathered to watch him.

"That was fast. Where's your pizza?" Edward sat up.

I shrugged. "I gave my money away."

"What?" he laughed and pulled me onto his lap.

"There was this homeless guy. He offered to catch fireflies for me."

"So you gave him your pizza money? All of it? Where are the fireflies?"

"I didn't want them."

"You never cease to surprise me."

He kissed me, his hand holding my face. I loved how when he did that, his hold was firm, but his fingertips were light against my cheeks. I felt wanted but not trapped. Circles swirled in my stomach as we shared lips and tongues, both of us growing more heated than we ought to be in a public park.

"Home, my love?" he asked.

"Home."

~::::::~

While my schoolwork followed me around like an unwanted and bothersome shadow, I wouldn't procrastinate away my therapeutic homework and called Alice the next day, counting back the hours in our time differences to when I thought she'd have a free moment. She answered after the first ring.

"Bella! Oh my god, it's you! Your voice! How are you?"

My eyes teared up at the sound of her enthusiasm, and I saw Edward watching me. I ducked away from him, into his art room for privacy. I didn't need him feeling sorry for me.

"You and my brother? I can't believe it," she said.

"You've talked to Edward?"

"Of course, weirdo, he's my brother, and doesn't avoid me like you do. Sometimes I wonder if you're trying to 'phase me out.'" She laughed.

"I'd never phase you out. Don't even joke about that."

"Well, Bella, for your _information_, now that my brother is more involved in your life than I am, I'm going to be jealous and you're just going to have to deal with that."

"Fine," I said, "but no phasing out of anyone. Anyway, what did he say about me?"

"Oh my god, Bella, I've never heard him talk that way about anyone. He loves you so much! What didn't he say? That would be the question."

I shuddered at the thought of what he didn't say. The only thing he wouldn't have said. The thing I wouldn't _let_ him say, but had to have been on his mind, on the tip of his tongue, even.

"He bores me, really, because you're all he wants to talk about. He told me about this face you make when you're about to say something sarcastic. How only the corner of your mouth smiles. I swear I had to stop listening when he talked about how much he wanted to kiss you when you did that. That's just gross. My brother."

"He does that too, with his mouth." I smiled.

"You don't have to tell me about his faces. Please! I already know all of his faces. I want to come and see you. When can I come?"

"I-I…" I couldn't stop stuttering. Pacing the room, making a horseshoe pattern back and forth around the bed, I forced myself to tell her to come whenever she wanted, even though I was searching my mind for an excuse to delay her visit.

"I'll have to talk to Jasper. I want him to come too. You have to meet him, and so does Edward. Edward better be good to him. He better like him. You tell him that for me."

"Oh sure," I said. "Like you were so good to all of his dates?"

"What? You should be thanking me for that. Now he's with you. If it weren't for me, he might still be with that god-awful Katie from prom. Or Tanya, that crazy who moved in with him all on the sly. Who needs women like them in their life? Not my brother. I'll tell you that."

When I hung up the phone, a feeling of gratefulness overtook me. She'd treated me just the same as always. To Alice, I wasn't made of glass. Not yet, and I'd keep it that way. I needed her, Rosalie was right about that. But I needed her as she'd always been. Unshadowed by pity, hurt, and fear.

Before I'd hung up she yelled at me to wait. "I love you, sweetheart," Alice had said. She called me sweetheart, just like her brother did. I wondered then if that might be an endearment their parents used.

I sat at the edge of the bed, my fingers fingering over the buttons to dial my father's phone number, but all of Alice's conversation was still running through my mind. Her voice, her excitement in talking to me… and I started to cry. I let my phone drop to the bed and I let the tears flow, some of the river inside my stomach releasing itself. I didn't fully understand why I was crying because I wasn't feeling sad, but I let it go anyway. I must have been sobbing because Edward heard me and rushed into the room.

"What is it?" He came to me, bringing me to his arms. "Did you tell her?"

I shook my head and wiped my tears, forcing myself to stop crying, swallowing the rest of my sobs.

"I just… it was so good to hear her voice. The way she talked to me, it was like nothing ever happened. I was still the same Bella she's always known. I wish I could be that way to everyone. Most of all you."

He combed his fingertips through my hair on each side of my head. "I love this Bella, right here in front of me. I don't care if you're who you used to be or not, I love you."

"And I love this Edward," I said, and laughed.

He kissed me soft and slow. "Yes," he said. "Laugh, Bella." He kissed me again, and I stood up on the bed. Edward stood up too, though remaining on the ground, and I towered over him, my hands on his shoulders. I bent down to kiss him, my hair falling around us both, shielding us from the light as if we needed privacy from it. The kisses I gave him were deep and aggressive. There was some new power in me that Alice, unknowingly, had given me. In treating me the same as always, she'd placed some of that old Bella right back into me. Temporary or not, it was such a different feeling from what I was used to, and I reveled in it. I was smiling, and I felt Edward's kiss in every part of my body. I lifted his hand to my breast, wanting to feel it there. He let out a moan.

"Bella…" He gave a gentle squeeze and then his thumb drifted over my nipple, and even through the layers of my shirt and bra, I gasped at the feeling that filled my insides.

I knelt down to the bed, and lay back, pulling on Edward. He came with me, hovering over me, his hand returning to my breast and his lips returning to mine. We kissed over and over, lips and tongues, minute after minute. We kissed until I needed my shirt off. I needed his fingers on the skin of my breasts.

I sat up and removed my shirt, and he reached around my back, unclasping my bra and bringing it down my arms. It was off, and he swept hands over my breasts. His lips were on my throat, always careful to avoid a certain spot on my neck. I tilted my head back, closing my eyes, losing myself in the feeling, until my mind was so relaxed that I had no control over what entered it. James, as always, took advantage of that. Blue eyes.

"Wait," I said, and Edward stopped, his lips leaving mine and his hands leaving my breasts. Both parts of my body were cold now at the absence of Edward, and both parts of my body missed his touch.

Edward silently lay down beside me, tucking me into his body, my back to his front, and he kissed the back of my neck through all of my hair. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

When he said things like that it made me not want to make him wait a second longer. There was no telling how long he may have to wait for me, though, because I couldn't figure out how to let my guard down during intimacy and not have James creep up.

~::::::~

On Friday, we were back in his art room. I didn't have any classes on Fridays and dedicated those days to homework. Edward was on the floor, painting with watercolors, and I was sitting on the bed, typing out a story on my laptop. When his medium was watercolors or pencils, he had an aversion to working on tables or desktops, which I now understood explained the absence of a desk chair. On his knees, bent over his painting, he reminded me of a kid.

Usually his paintings for books were done in watercolor with simple black outlines that were barely there, lines and movement that suggested shapes or figures, never completely connecting. It was the colors that brought his pictures to life, bleeding out into the background where the soft black lines ended. His art—people, animals, or landscapes—flowed, beautiful in its simplicity. He now had authors who requested him exclusively for their books.

I pulled my eyes away from Edward, back to the short story brewing its own life on my laptop. The story had to be completed for group by Tuesday.

Tyler had kept his promise and stayed away from me, switching groups. He never even made eye contact with me. Sometimes I could feel him looking at me from the other end of the table, but when my eyes swept his way, I felt relief to find his downcast. At the same time, I kind of wanted to catch his eye and give him a smile, a small apology for what had happened at our apartment, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I didn't want to confuse him anymore than he probably already was.

No one new had joined our group, and I spent most of my forced moments of chatter aimed at Angela. I was back to avoiding all men. I'd taken a chance with Tyler, and with the way that had turned out, I'd regressed from any desire to coerce myself into trusting guys. Edward was the only man I wanted anywhere near me.

I glanced at the clock on my laptop: 2:15.

"Don't you have to go to your meeting?" I asked Edward.

He checked his watch and stood up instantly. "Oh shit! I lost track of time." He picked his painting up off the floor and brought it to his desk to dry. He turned to me before he left the room.

"Bella, I think I should tell you something."

His eyes, intent on mine, had me moving my laptop aside, giving him my full attention.

"There's a chance that, well, hopefully, someone might come back with me tonight. A guy I know. I'm not sure yet if he will, but in case he does, I want you to be prepared."

"Who is he? Why might he come over?"

"Last week I passed by this new art gallery in the Village. It just opened. They show local artists and I wanted to check it out. Turns out, a friend of mine from school works there, Marcus, also an art major. He's seen my work plenty and asked me if I wanted to submit some pictures of my paintings to the gallery. I've got some digital images I'm going to show him later, and he might decide right then that it's nothing like he remembered, it's absolute complete shit, and tell me to fuck off…"

I had to laugh, knowing that would never happen.

"Or, on the off chance that he likes what he sees, he might want to come and look at the rest in person."

I crawled off the bed. "Edward! That's awesome! Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I wouldn't tell you now if I didn't think it was necessary to warn you." He shook his head. "I just wanted to wait and see what he thought first. If he rejects me and I have to explain that to you..." He let out a breath of a laugh through his nose. "I don't want to fail in front of you."

"You're not going to fail," I said.

He shrugged. "I've been rejected before, Bella."

"So what? All artists get rejected. Some of the best artists have been rejected the worst, haven't they? That doesn't mean they failed."

He brought his arm around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. "Keep talking," he said with a smile, and kissed me again. "Keep talking."

"If I saw your art in a show, I'd buy it all if I could afford it. I know I couldn't afford work like yours, but if I could, I'd buy every piece and line my walls with it."

"Oh, really? Which one would you buy first?"

"That one, there." I pointed at his newest, barely begun painting. "The one partially covered in charcoal."

"Are you sure that would be your first choice? I mean, I guess I can see why. It certainly is a complex piece. Look at the lines. So much depth." He stood back, crossed an arm over his chest, his other hand tugging at his chin as if he had a goatee. "Yeah, I can see why you love it. Tell me, though, Great Connoisseur Of Art, which would be your second choice?"

"The New York tour one, of course."

"Ah, everyone's favorite. Sorry, lady, that one's not available for purchase."

"Lady? What happened to _Great Connoisseur Of Art_? And why isn't that one for sale? That one's got to be worth the most."

"It is worth the most. You're right. It's priceless. But it's not mine."

"How is that possible? You painted it."

"And from the first stroke, it belonged to someone else."

"Who?"

"I think you can figure it out." He kissed me.

"Umm, Alice?"

"Nope." He kissed me again.

"Your friend, Emmett?"

"No." He kissed me again.

"The man that sleeps in the doorway three buildings over?"

"Close," he said, nodding, and I laughed.

"He could use it to block the wind in the winter."

"See? My art has more purpose than most. That alone should make a great selling point. Hang it on the wall or use it as a weather shield."

"Is it mine? Really?"

"It's yours," he said, and gave me a long kiss, that continued to grow in need. When his lips parted from mine, he left me craving more, and when Edward said goodbye and was out the door, he left my body burning for more. I felt my desire for him between my legs. There was an ache there, an almost throbbing ache, and when I acknowledged it, the guilt that came over me for feeling that way pissed me off. And again, my desire was gone.

I returned to the art room, took my painting from the easel and hung it up on the wall in Edward's room. In our room. Then I sat on the bed and stared at it for a long time. I watched the painting as if I was afraid that when I took my eyes off it, it might move or change.

It had been two days since I'd called Alice, and because of my reaction to that call, my river of tears release, I was afraid to call my dad and kept putting it off. During yesterday's session, Rosalie had been proud of me for calling Alice, but insisted that I call my father. I decided that now, while Edward was out, was a good time. If I had to cry afterward at least Edward wouldn't have to witness it.

The conversation with my father was more strained than it had been with Alice because he kept asking how I was. I had trouble answering that. I couldn't lie and say that I was fine, so I kept ignoring the question, just kept saying that I was busy with school. And that was true. I had a weekly write up on Chaucer to do, on top of all the stories I had to write. I didn't understand how people could seem to pull stories, good ones, out of thin air, and produce them in such quantity. I couldn't do that. I really need to dedicate time to it to get anything worthwhile out of myself, and then I'd revise and revise some more.

"But how are you?" my dad asked again.

I was annoyed that he wouldn't let the question go. "I'm stressed, Dad! Okay? I'm stressed out." I couldn't figure out why I couldn't lie about my feelings and say that everything was fine, and that I was as schoolgirl-giddy as ever. There had been a time when I could have done that. I'd even lied to Edward about my feelings numerous times. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to lie. I wondered then if that wasn't a milestone for me. That thought brought about a smile, and if my father had asked me how I was just then, I could have said, _Good, relieved, proud of myself_. But of course, he didn't ask.

"I worry about you, Bella," he said. "All by yourself in New York."

"I'm not alone. I have my-my friends."

"Friends are not family. They don't care for you the same."

"Yeah," I said, "Mom is the perfect example of that, isn't she?" I closed my eyes and shook my head at the low blow. His comment had made me defensive of Edward even though I hadn't even mentioned him to my father. It was an immature, thoughtless thing to say.

"I love ya, Bells. And your mom does too. She just doesn't know how to show it. She never has."

"Dad, Mom doesn't know what love is. She has no understanding of it whatsoever and I don't even think she's ever felt it."

"Thinking that way sure makes it easier, doesn't it? If we believe that, it makes it easier to pretend we don't love her either."

It didn't escape me that he used both the present tense of love and that he'd included himself. He still loved her. I didn't understand how he could. Even though I knew it wasn't the same kind of love he had once held for her, it was love, nonetheless.

"There's a whole world inside of people, Bella. It's not as black and white as you see it. You have no idea what her life was like before us."

I nodded as if he could see me. "That's true," I said. "You only know what people are willing to share with you."

When I ended the call with my father, I didn't cry like I had with Alice. In a way, I wanted to. I wanted to feel that release of pressure, but there were no tears.

My thoughts were on my mother and my father's allusion to her difficult past. At one time in my life, even a few months ago, I wouldn't have believed that a rough past was a proper excuse to current negative or hurtful behavior. I wouldn't have felt sympathy for my mother. But now, after my experience with James, I did feel sympathy for her, without having any knowledge of her past, and regardless of how she'd neglected me.

I went to the closet and brought down my memory box. Inside, buried beneath letters, old concert tickets, and photos of friends, was a picture of my mother and me. I was ten years old in the picture.

I drifted a finger over our faces. I traced my mother's shoulder length brown hair, perfectly polished, next to me and my messy hair. We were both smiling. To anyone else who looked at this picture, probably even to my father, this picture told a happy story. The smiles could have been genuine. I almost believed they were. But I knew the truth. I knew that the person taking the photo, my mom's boyfriend at the time, had told me to smile, and when I did he'd told me to smile bigger. I'd resented him afterward for making me smile. The resentment came after I'd looked up at my mother, the smile still on my face, expecting her to be smiling back at me, but she was already moving from my side as if I'd never been there, moving toward him, kissing him, hugging him. Moments like that when I was little were the coldest I'd ever felt in Phoenix.

I hadn't seen her in five years, but I imagined she hadn't changed much. She was always very youthful in appearance, seeming a good ten years younger than she was.

I saw James in my mind. He flashed through me and his voice, too, asking me if my mom was hot like me. I shut James out as fast as I could and dropped the photo back in the box, closing it up again.

I recalled my last meeting with Rosalie and the conversation revolving around my mother leaving when I was a little girl. I'd never felt welcomed during my visits with her. Still, each time summer came around, I had ridiculously looked forward to seeing her, hopeful that she'd changed and would be just as glad to see me. I told Rosalie about that, and the next thing I said was that I'd told James, too.

Rosalie sat facing me in her chair, asking what my memories of my mother had to do with James, other than the fact that I'd told him about her.

Nothing, I'd said.

She had asked me if I'd told Edward about my mom, too, and when I nodded she asked me if I noticed I'd mentioned telling James but hadn't mentioned telling Edward.

"Why do you think I did that?" I asked.

"I _think_," she had said, "you are fusing your experience with James into all of your negative experiences, and your 'bad' memories. James is the worst thing that has ever happened to you, so his presence is haunting every negative experience in your past and your present.

"Even your experience with Tyler, Bella. Tyler's behavior, in retrospect, had nothing to do with James, had it?"

"He was talking about sex… with _me_." I pointed at my chest. _Of course that had to do with James_, I wanted to yell.

"Think about it. I'm not trying to be rude or disrespect your feelings, but really think about it. James raped you, yes, he forced sex on you. Does that mean that all sex, or sexual connotations toward you involve James? Or is it your experience with James that brings him into the equation?"

I spoke in a frustrated sigh. "It's my experience with James. But I don't get the difference. Am I supposed to just trust everyone again? Not learn anything from what happened with James?"

"Of course not. Listen to me. It's okay to be distrusting. You'll never be as trusting as you once were. But there's a difference between drawing from life experience before you decide whether or not you trust someone, and drawing from just _one_ experience. James is just one person in a past and future of thousands. Yes, he made a horrible impact on you, but I don't want James to come to mind with every negative emotion you have, or every sexual innuendo. Your trauma with James and your present are separate and you can build up a habit to keep it that way. Do you understand?"

I paused in thought. Confused.

"Bella, in order to help you understand, I'm going to share with you a part of my own experience." She brought her hand to mine and looked into my eyes. She appeared to be waiting for something. My mind began to slow and calm, and she must have seen it in my eyes. She spoke. "There was a time when I couldn't look at a couple touching without assuming the guy would eventually attack the girl. I feared for every girl. Now, if I still thought that way, that means that when I saw Edward with his arms around you in comfort on your first visit here, I would have assumed he was going to hurt you and I would have visualized him hurting you. Is that a fair impression of Edward?"

I shook my head vigorously, feeling angered by the thought.

"Would that be a healthy attitude for me to have?"

"No."

"Well, that's similar to what you're doing. James enters your mind,—and I don't mean in an uncontrolled flashback, I mean in the conscious part of your mind—when you remember the incident with Tyler, and when you talk to me about it. You're drawing a line, a parallel between James and Tyler. And the memories of your mother too. You think about her, you develop negative feelings, and James comes up, am I right?"

I nodded.

"That is something you can control, Bella. Be mindful of when this happens. You need to separate James from everything else. You need to keep him separate. Keep him out of your present," she said. "Like I mentioned, I'm not talking about a flashback here, I'm talking about conscious thought. Flashbacks happen unexpectedly without any thought. But when you're reminiscing over events similar to what happened with Tyler, you can consciously block James from that. If James enters your mind, you can force him out. Remind yourself that James has nothing to do with any of your current experiences, or with anyone in your past. He has nothing to do with Jacob or your mother… get it? If you continue to draw those parallels, you won't have a real, honest perspective of people or events. You'll have your own skewed, untrue version. And that is not healthy."

"My head hurts just thinking about this."

"I know it seems overwhelming, but it really won't be. You won't have to deal with several memories or people at once, like the ones I've just brought up. This will happen one at a time. It won't be constant and all you'll have to do is be aware of it. Let's take one example to make it clearer. Pick one person I mentioned."

I chose Tyler because he was my most recent negative experience, and since he was someone I would see every week.

"Okay, so you're with Tyler, or you remember Tyler, and something James once said to you comes to mind. What do you do?"

"Push James out? Remind myself that James has nothing to do with Tyler?"

"You've got it. See? Not overwhelming."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Let's face it. This isn't the hardest thing you've had to take on throughout your trauma, is it?"

"Not by ten thousand miles." I smiled.

Rosalie nodded, smiling too. She gave my hand a squeeze before letting go.

Now, sitting on the bedroom floor, the memory box still in my lap, I thought of how I'd drawn that parallel between Jacob and James. With Jacob, though I may have felt pressured, scared, and unready, the sex was consensual. While he kissed me on his bed, touched my breasts and between my legs, I never told him to stop, and even though I was scared and nervous, he was tender with me, and he still made me feel good. It wasn't the same thing at all that had happened with James. It wasn't even close. Even slightly comparing Jacob to James had been so unfair to Jacob that I almost called him to apologize.

Instead, I placed my memory box back in the closet. Edward called shortly after to tell me that he _and_ Marcus were on their way. I could have jumped up and down in excitement if he'd stopped talking there.

"Bella, I don't know why I didn't think to tell you this before, except that maybe it's because I've known Marcus for so long that it didn't cross my mind, but Marcus sort of has blond hair. I mean, I guess you'd call it dirty blond. I don't know if that's going to affect you, so please be prepared, and if you don't think you can handle it, it's fine with me if you don't want to meet him. I don't want you hurt over this."

If I hadn't already been nervous about ruining this chance for Edward, I was now. I thought of quickly slipping out of the apartment, just so I wouldn't cause a scene. Blond men, close and looking at me, were my strongest triggers for flashbacks and dissociation. I took some deep breaths and decided to remain in the apartment. I told Edward that I'd meet Marcus. I'd support Edward through this opportunity. With any luck, Marcus wouldn't have blue eyes.

The key clicked into the lock and I stared as the doorknob twisted, but as the door opened, I turned all the way around, my back to the door.

"Bella," Edward said. I felt his hand on my shoulder. "This is Marcus." He turned me to face him, his lips on mine, blocking Marcus from my line of sight. "I'm here," he whispered. "You're safe."

I nodded, taking another deep breath. _Not James. Not James. James is not in New York_, I repeated over and over in my mind as I walked toward Marcus.

"Hi," I said, giving his eyes a quick glance. Brown, not blue. I let out a breath as I shook his hand, though my eyes were on our hands instead of his face.

Edward's arm was over my shoulder, and I reached up with my free hand to grasp his fingers. I used them as my sense of touch while I chanced a longer look at Marcus.

"Good to meet you," he said, and he was still Marcus. "Glad to see Edward settling himself down." He reached over and gave Edward's shoulder a playful hit. It was sudden and strong enough to make Edward take a stumble back, and I stiffened, closed my eyes, turning my face toward Edward's shirt. His hold moved down my shoulder to my arm where his fingers met my skin. He was giving me his touch. His lips met my forehead.

"He's kidding," Edward said, just to give me his voice, and I knew it. He was doing whatever he could to help me stay focused, without exhibiting any odd or questionable behavior that would be apparent to Marcus.

"Bad joke," Marcus said. "Edward's a great guy. Always has been. Trust me, I wouldn't be doing this for him otherwise."

I made eye contact with Marcus again. "I can take jokes." Although I knew that statement wasn't all true. It would depend on the joke and who it came from.

Edward pointed out his art room and told Marcus he'd be right behind him.

He took my face in his hands and kissed my lips. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I am." I smiled. "No James. Not even a flash."

"You're getting better at Rosalie's technique."

I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Go show off your paintings."

* * *

**A/N**: I love hearing your thoughts, and questions are always welcome.

PS. If you ever watched _Friends_, you may have picked up on Alice's reference to Phoebe, when she mentions Bella "phasing" her out.


	14. Chapter 14

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 14

After a careful goodbye involving minimal eye contact with Marcus, and the door was closed, Edward came to me, lifted me up, and said, "October!"

"October, what?" I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. His shirt had lifted a bit and I couldn't help but be aware of our skin to skin contact, my bare calf against his bare back.

"Twenty-third." His smile was wide.

"Art gallery, really?"

"Really." He held me tight as he kissed me, and he was moving too. His arms hit the wall behind me, but I didn't know if he felt it. There wasn't a second's pause in his kiss. His kisses grew hungry and I fed them with mine. He slid his mouth across my face and my throat to my chest, kissing along the neckline of my tank top, nudging the cotton out of his way with his lips until he met the curve of my breast. One of his hands moved up my back, under my shirt, and his hips pressed against me. I gasped, and even though it wasn't a bad gasp, the sound was enough to bring Edward back to Earth. It seemed he noticed not only where we were heading, but also that he was the one initiating it all, and he stopped, lowering me to my feet.

We stared at one another, our arms loose around each other, our breathing calming.

"Edward," I said, sliding my hand to his chest His heart pounded hard against my palm, as if asking me questions Edward couldn't voice. "You want to celebrate. It's natural." I was tired of him feeling guilty for simply desiring sex, desiring me. It felt good to be desired by Edward, even if I was unsure I could go through with it.

"There are other ways to celebrate."

I let my hand fall down his chest and his stomach, and over the center of his jeans, where I stopped and pressed against him. I felt a throb there, even through his pants. "You have needs," I said. "Good needs, so much different than James." I inched my hand up and down on him, pressing. "Even if I'm not ready to have sex yet, I could… I could touch you."

I lifted my gaze to his eyes. They were closed, his head tilted slightly toward the ceiling, and he seemed to be holding his breath. He moved my hand away from him, and opened his eyes.

"Not until you're ready. I won't take advantage of you."

"I'm offering. It wouldn't be taking advantage."

He hadn't let go of my hand, and he flattened my palm against his, and with the fingers of his free hand, he rubbed the topside of mine. He watched as he did this, as if in deep concentration, examining his fingers as they drifted over each of my veins. A simple, tender touch like this was simultaneously innocent and intimate, and it brought a return of my want for him that always began in the lower part of my stomach. In moments like these, I was convinced that I could go through with sex with Edward. Just then, it seemed like the impossibilities lay in not having sex. Sex between us, making love, had become absolute. It would happen; it was inevitable.

"In your offer, you said that you're not ready. And if I let you do this for me, that would be taking advantage. I won't take anything from you until I can give back. I couldn't feel right about that."

"Are you sure you don't want me to touch you?"

"Bella…" He slid his fingers into my hair. "I want your touch on me, but I can't let you." He shook his head and I saw his throat bob with a heavy swallow. "Taking and not giving, that's too much like… _him_ to me. I can't do it."

I nodded in understanding, but couldn't help but wonder if Edward's unwillingness to receive pleasure without giving it truly had to do with him feeling like James, or if it had more to do with his trauma.

This wasn't the time to bring up therapy, not on the same wind of the progression of his art dreams. But he hadn't mentioned therapy at all, and if he continued to ignore it, I'd eventually have to remind him again.

I closed my eyes and dropped my head against his chest, despising this black cloud over me. Even at a time that should bring nothing but elation, I'd managed to make it depressing. I wasn't powerless to the black cloud, though. I could turn it around, break it up. I lifted my head.

"You know what? You're right. There _are_ other ways to celebrate. I'm taking you out. I'll treat you to dinner and champagne or wine or whatever you want. Wherever you want to go. And all that you can bring with you are your keys and your I.D. No money."

Edward smiled and rubbed my cheekbone with his thumb. "I can't say no to an offer like that," he said.

"Give me your wallet," I said, motioning with my fingers for it.

With a laugh and a shake of his head, he took it out of his pocket and handed it over. I opened it, removed all the cash and credit cards from it so he couldn't even be tempted to pay, and I put it all in a kitchen drawer.

"Where do you want me to take you?" I asked, returning to the living room, offering him his now much lighter wallet.

Without opening it, he slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. "How do you feel about Sake by the river instead of champagne?"

"You want to go back there?"

"You said anywhere I wanted to go. Why? Don't you want to go back there?

"I think that's the perfect place."

Our sushi restaurant was much different at night. We were seated on the patio again, a votive in a crystal bowl centered on our table. The same warm breeze that attacked at the candle flame as if it had something to prove could barely lift my hair from my shoulders. Every once in a while it blew a strand or two over my face, not even bothersome enough for me to push aside. And of the wind's lack of strength, anyone with a pulse in New York would agree that if only the breeze was stronger, the night would be bearable. It was the hottest September I'd experienced in all of my four years in New York.

Instead of matching the green of Edward's eyes, the Hudson appeared as black as pupils, except farther out where the moon reflected on the water, a wide stretch of silver, the caps like thousands of sterling necklaces unclasped and riding on the backs of the river waves.

There was a gaggle of people at the other end of the patio, all squished around a table too small for their party, but they seemed to pay no mind to their tight fit, laughing and loud in their chatter. I noticed they were all young, our age.

"Bella?"

I turned to Edward.

"You never really see your friends anymore. Jessica, occasionally, but nothing like you used to."

"Most of my friends who graduated with me moved back home. Not very many of them are from New York. And the ones still here, I've lost touch with. They go out to bars and clubs all the time. There's no way I want to be a part of that scene right now."

"What about making new friends?"

"I'm not good at being social anymore. I'll be fake smiling the whole time. I'd probably fake smile myself into a panic attack again."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his hands folding together. "Maybe it wouldn't be that way. You haven't really tried, have you? You don't fake smiles with me."

"But I do fake my smiles with Angela at school. And the only reason I talk to her most of the time is so that my attention is diverted from the guys around me."

He leaned back against his chair, shifting tensely in his seat and nodded. As soon as I mentioned guys, it seemed he understood what I meant. Perhaps he felt the same way about meeting up with his old friends.

He changed the subject. "Your birthday is on Monday."

"Twenty-three." I nodded. "I'm going to be so old."

"Old at twenty-three? What does that make me at twenty-five?"

"You, sir, are on the cusp of old age," I said. "I mean, you're almost _thirty_."

"I better pick myself up a cane then before my memory starts failing and I forget I need it."

"Don't worry, I'll remind you."

"I'm assuming you don't want a party."

I almost spit my drink out. "Um, no thank you."

"How about…" He lifted off his chair, reaching into his back pocket. "How about this, then?" He placed two tickets on the table.

"What are you doing? You cheated! You weren't supposed to bring anything but your keys and I.D." I picked up the smooth coated, rectangular papers, the stubs of which would later be used as nostalgic bookmarks holding the place in my current Chaucer. "_Hair_? On Broadway!"

"Next Friday," he said, and the smile that graced his face was even bigger than the one that had met his lips when he'd announced his art show to me. I ran around the table to him and threw my arms around his neck, falling to his lap, my behavior rivaling the obnoxiousness of the large group at the end of the patio. Edward caught me before I knocked us backward off his chair. He rubbed large circles over my back.

"Thank you, Edward! I don't care what anyone says, I'm not moving. I'll eat my dinner right here on top of you. And I'm not even going to get mad at you for giving me a gift on your night."

"Yet," he said.

"What?"

"You're not mad at me, _yet_. Get up for just a second." He patted my hip. "I have something else to give you." I stood as he pulled two more tickets out of his pocket. "Don't be mad," he said, handing them to me. "I thought you might want to invite some friends, but that was before I knew how you felt. If you don't want to... I'll just… I'll sell them. I still have a week to find something to do with them."

I didn't return to his lap. I went back to my own chair.

"Bella, don't be mad. Are you?"

"Edward, stop it, I'm not mad. This is very generous of you. I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"About who I'm going to invite."

He was smiling again, though I really wasn't, and not for lack of trying.

"Obviously Jessica will be one, but maybe I will invite Angela. She's really nice to me, and maybe… maybe if I invite new friends into my life it will be like opening another part of me. A new part of me where James isn't and never was."

His smile slipped from his lips. "I think you should come back over here, Bella." He held a hand out to me and I took it, letting him guide me back to his lap, his arms wrapping me.

"Thank you for the tickets," I said.

He lifted my face to kiss my lips. "I promise you, I _promise_, that one of these days, James will not be an everyday part of your life."

"How can you be so sure? To make that kind of promise?"

"Because of who you are. You keep trying, even when things don't always work the way you hoped. That's the only way to do it. Never giving up on yourself. I'd never let you do that either."

And with that final sentence, I no longer cared that we were supposed to be celebrating; I had to bring up his healing as well.

I brought my fingers to his face so he couldn't look away from me. I traced his stubble. "You can't give up either. You have to heal too."

"The better you get, the better I get."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I don't have as far to go as you do. I just need to see you happy."

"My happiness might make you happy, Edward, but it's not all you need. You can't ignore yourself."

"I'm not."

"Do you promise? Because that's the promise I need. And don't promise it if it isn't true."

He averted his eyes. His face fell, too.

"Edward?"

"If that's the promise you need, then I'll give it to you." His eyes lifted back to mine. "I won't ignore myself."

"So then we can look for a therapist for you? Or do you want to talk to Rosalie?"

"No." He shook his head. "No. I'm not sure that therapy is the way I want to go."

I frowned. "Why not? What other way is there to go? Before Rosalie, you kept insisting on therapy for me."

"Let's talk about this at home. Our dinner will be here soon."

"How about no? Let's talk about this now, even if our _dinner_ goes uneaten."

Laughter came at us from the large group, and I hoped they were almost done and would leave soon. This was no time to hear anyone laughing.

"You know that there are things I can't tell you."

"Don't use that as an excuse not to talk to me."

"I'm not. Why do we have to talk about this now when there are people around?" His eyes had changed. He was irritated, or frustrated, or even angry.

I returned his look of irritation. "You talked about me with these same people around."

His eyes grew smaller and his lips tightened. "When we were talking about you, it was positive. This is… this is personal."

"And you don't think that talking about my healing, positive or not, is _personal_?"

I stood up from his lap and he stood up too.

"Will you… excuse me for a minute?" He brought his hand to my arm, but just to move me out of the way as he headed into the restaurant. I sank into my chair, exasperated, wondering what in the hell just happened. Had I messed things up by pressuring him to open up, or had he, by getting angry over a question?

The server came by to deliver our dinner. I pointed to the empty spot across from me when he showed me Edward's plate.

"Your food's here," I said to Edward when he returned, as if he couldn't see it. I suppose what I really wanted to say was, _Why weren't you here when it arrived?_

I had already eaten some of my sushi rolls. He sat down, spread the napkin on his lap, and started eating.

"Why did you leave?" I took a sip of my water after asking that, trying to keep the question simple and nonchalant.

He leaned forward and his voice was quiet. "I needed to calm myself."

"Why weren't you calm? I don't understand why you got so angry. It's just like when you used to talk to me about therapy, and I'd get angry-"

"And I dropped it like you wanted, didn't I?" His voice was firm and harsh. He'd never spoken to me that way before.

"But you were right about therapy for me. Why is it any different with you?"

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I don't know what Rosalie said to you to make you think that what I'm going through is the same thing you are. It's different. There are things I can't _tell_ you, Bella. Please, just understand that and don't think that I'm making excuses. Look... I found some internet groups, some support online that I've found helpful. They're the reason I sometimes know what to do to help you when you need it. And that's just what I'm going to keep doing for now. So, you know I'm not ignoring myself, can we just let it go?"

"Why couldn't you just say that before?"

"Because before… I wasn't thinking rationally. Before, other things were on my mind."

"What things?"

He let out a deep breath through his nose. "Bella-" I heard him say _fuck_ under his breath "-how many times have I asked you to let this go?"

"Don't talk to me like you're my father, Edward. If I have a question, I'll ask it."

"Your father? What about respecting me when I say I don't want to talk about something? You may be able to tell me anything and everything, but I can't tell you everything. You said you understood that, but you still ask me questions!"

"Really, Edward? Anything and everything? Okay, if that's what you think. Can I tell you that before James _raped_ me he forced kisses on me? Can I tell you that he held me tight around my arms so I couldn't get free and he shook me, because I refused to return the kiss? And one time, Edward, he let me go. I told him to let me go because he was hurting me, and he did. I was free. And did I leave? No! That wasn't my only chance either. I had other opportunities to leave the apartment before that, and I didn't! I was confused by his behavior. I knew he was acting different, and he was scaring me, and then he was far away by the bookshelf, while I was _four feet_ from the front door. And I did _not_ leave! Can I tell you that?"

I was too far gone. It didn't even dawn on me that as I was asking him if I could tell him, I _was_ telling him.

"I didn't leave. I sat down on the sofa and I waited for him... Your tie was there. I played with it, wishing you were there and I just waited while he looked through my books and got angrier. I knew enough to hide your tie from him. I protected your fucking tie, but not myself? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why didn't I leave?

"And later, at your apartment, in the shower, I saw two big bruises right between my legs. And when I think about them and close my eyes I can still see them, as if the ugly things are st-still there. Just like I feel over and over what James did to me. Did I ever tell you any of that? So you think I can tell you everything, Edward? Is that what you think?"

When I stopped talking, I looked around. We were no longer seated at the table. Edward had taken my hand and led me away from the restaurant to where we had privacy on the side of the tall, gray building. I vaguely remembered moving from the table, through the low iron gate, exiting the restaurant patio. I vaguely remembered Edward's face, shocked and then pain-stricken.

He pulled me into a tight hug and tears were all over the place.

"Oh god, Edward, I'm so sorry." I held on to his shoulder, my lips against my knuckles

"Shh, shh…" He swept his hand down my hair. "Don't ever apologize. Don't ever fucking apologize, Bella. _Fuck._ I'm sorry. I love you so much. I love you so goddamn much. And I said too much. I should've shut up."

Just as our faces were wet with tears, so were our bodies wet with sweat, but we weren't letting go of each other no matter how hot and sticky we were.

"This was your night," I said. "I knew I shouldn't have brought up therapy tonight, but I did it anyway. Let's just forget about all this. Let's just go back to celebrating your success." I backed up a little bit so I could look into his face, but his arms wouldn't let me go; he held me close against his body.

"You're going to show your art." I smiled through tears. "How many pieces? What did Marcus say?"

He didn't answer my questions. Instead, he moved his hands to my face and left kisses all over my forehead, my cheeks, across my nose, my chin, and then my lips. And when he pulled his face from mine, he took a second before he spoke.

"I'm calling the detective tomorrow. We need to stay on top of them. If we're too quiet, they might stop looking for him. But if we're loud and relentless and in their faces, they might search harder."

"Okay," I said. "Is it all right if we go back to making this night about you, now?"

"In a minute." He lifted one of my arms and kissed from the strap of my tank top to the inside of my elbow, and repeated the action on my other arm. And then he let both of his hands drift over my waist and my hips and down to my thighs, just below the hem of my shorts. "I wish you had told me about the bruises. You didn't have to keep that in." He knelt down and caressed my inner thighs with the backs of his knuckles. He kissed both of my legs, and then came back to me. Tears were in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against my temple, my pulse on his lips.

"How many paintings?" I wiped my face.

He gave me a kiss before answering. "Ten." His smile was small.

"Have you decided what you're going to show? You have over twenty paintings."

"I have way more than twenty_. _Not all my paintings are in that room. And I've only decided on a few so far." He took my hand and intertwined our fingers. "Are you okay? Do you want to go back to our table and finish eating, or do you want to pay the bill and get out of here?"

"Let's finish. You've hardly had a chance to eat a thing."

"I didn't ask you about me. I asked what you wanted to do."

"I want to go finish our celebratory dinner and not have any more arguments."

"Beautiful plan," he said. He opened the low gate, and with a hand on my lower back, he led me forward.

Back at the table, I brought my glass of water to my face, pressing it against my cheeks and forehead to cool down. Edward saw me and did the same thing.

"Not the best night to eat outside," he said.

He stopped and looked at me, and as I looked back at him, I could see, even by the flicker of the candle and the dim light coming at us from the faraway lamppost, that the whites of his eyes were reddening, and tears shone in a threat to spill.

"Bella," he whispered, shaking his head.

"I shouldn't have said what I said, and especially not like that. I-I don't know why I did. I couldn't stop myself."

"You have to get it out," he said. "You keep it in, and you're the only one who knows about it, and that has to be suffocating you. Did you even tell the police about what you told me just now? Because I was there and I don't remember any of that."

"No, it wasn't all clear to me. I only remembered the worst parts when I gave the report."

"I think you have to tell them. That should be added to the report for… for evidence."

I nodded and looked down at my plate, still two-thirds full, and I had no appetite.

"Can we go?" Edward asked. "I can't be this far away from you. I think about what James did to you, and I need you in my arms. That's a part of my stress; I just need to hold you. To remind myself that it's all over and you're safe now."

I went over to him and kissed his face. "Thank you for telling me that."

I took cash from my pocket, enough to include a tip, set it on the small black tray that held the bill, and weighted it with the pepper shaker.

By the time we left the restaurant, the wind was finally strong enough to snuff that flame on our table, and anyone outdoors more than likely celebrated right along with the wind in its triumph. I welcomed the breeze on my face as it lifted my hair and reached around, cooling my neck underneath as Edward and I made our way to the street and a cab, our arms around each other.

The only time we let go of each other that night was when we changed for bed. Even our bodies were touching as we brushed our teeth. Under the sheet, I cuddled up to Edward, my head tucked into his shoulder, my hand over his heart. I could tell by the uneven movements of his chest that, even in his silence, he was crying. And I could barely breathe. I knew he was still reacting to my outburst, and I felt horrible about it.

"Edward, please, I love you." I kissed his bare and heaving chest. "But I hate this situation. I _hate_ it. We're back in that prison, aren't we?"

He didn't answer because he couldn't speak, and it occurred to me that my words only made him feel worse. I kept my face on his chest as I spoke. I didn't look at him because I felt like he wanted some sort of privacy in his tears. If he didn't care if I was aware of it, he wouldn't have made such an effort to keep it silent.

"No," I said. "We're not in a prison. We're together, and that could never be a prison."

He kissed my head and took a few deep and calming breaths. I felt his hand move to his face as he must have wiped his tears away.

"We live in a fucked up world," he said, "where someone like you can be hurt like this."

It was painful for me to hear him talk like that. It was so unlike him. He was always doing the reassuring. I had to try to reverse what I'd done to him that evening.

"We also live in a world where people like us can find each other and fall in love." Knowing that he was done crying, I moved to look into his eyes. "Real, true love."

"Bella-" he lifted his head to kiss me "-there are so many reasons why I love you…" he kissed me again "...but this right here, when you say things like that…" his tongue found mine, and this kiss was so long, I was unsure he would continue his thought, but he did. "I know there's no one anywhere like you. And this is why my love for you will never stop." He moved his kiss down my throat, holding my face where he wanted me, to lay trails of kisses all the way around to the back of my neck.

He turned us over so that he was on top of me. My legs opened for him and he settled between them, continuing to kiss me. His breathing was heavy, so heavy, heavier than mine. I lay there still, letting him kiss me. I wasn't going to stop him. I was determined not to.

For just a second I felt him against my panties through his boxers as he moved his up my side, under my shirt, lifting it. Then I felt him again, his hips pushing deliberately against my panties, harder this time, and I let out a sound in my throat that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. I wasn't even sure what the sound meant. We were moving so quickly. Too quickly. I could feel panic settling into my throat as if it belonged there, just as much a part of me as my saliva. I tried to swallow it. This was a different panic. I didn't see or feel James, but the fear was that I would. I was scared that Edward would soon turn into James. That hadn't happened in so long, not in over a month, but we'd never moved this fast before.

"I'm going to stop, Bella. Don't worry. I'll stop." He skimmed his lips downward, over my shirt to my bare stomach; I took in a deep inhale. "I just have to- I mean, I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?" His voice was so low, I could barely hear him, but the need in his voice was evident.

"Y-yes."

His kisses moved softly over my stomach. They weren't even always kisses. Sometimes it was just the dragging of his lips across my skin. Sometimes his tongue. He was at my side, my waist, when he moaned, and that sound from him was all it took for him to stop. His lips were off me and his face found mine. He pushed my hair back.

"I'm sorry. I just-" His eyes were damp, and I really didn't want him to cry again. I felt bad enough about what I'd put him through on _his_ night. And then this. I could feel how much he wanted to continue, but he couldn't allow himself to, and he was frustrated, maybe with himself, maybe with me, maybe with James.

"It's okay. I'm okay."

He shook his head. "You're not. Not completely. You weren't relaxed. And I kept going."

"I was afraid."

He moved off of me, his touch gone. I caught his hand and tugged him closer, pulled his arm around me, and linked our fingers. "Edward, I wasn't afraid of _you_. I was afraid something would happen and I'd have to stop you. I knew you would stop. I wasn't afraid of that. I was scared of myself. That's all."

"There shouldn't be any fear," he said. "I want there to be no fear at all."

"I know."

He pulled my back against his chest, his arm still around me and our fingers still linked together. After a while, he said, "Let's go to sleep. It's safer that way. I won't assault you with my lips."

I turned around and held on tight around his neck. "Edward, no, you weren't assaulting me."

"I was doing it more for me than I was for you. What would you call it?"

"I call it love and desire."

"James said he loved you, didn't he? And he desired you."

"Edward!" I sat up, but he lay there right where he was. "You can't compare yourself to James. Ever! Don't do that. What you were doing tonight? That's normal. It's normal to want to kiss the one you love. I want to kiss you all the time. I wanted you to kiss me tonight. I _wanted_ it. Even if I was nervous for reasons I can't quite explain, I wanted it. Do you hear me? Do you understand that?"

He stared up at me. I let my fingertips drift down his face. "Do you?"

He nodded.

"Are you sure? Because it hurts me, Edward, when you compare yourself to James. I love you and I _hate _James. I couldn't stand it if you thought you were anything like him. He's disgusting and you're beautiful."

He brushed hair over my shoulder, then trailed his fingers down my arm. He pulled me to him and held me. "I won't do that again."

I lifted my face and looked down at him. "Do what again?"

"I won't compare myself to James. I understand what you mean. I would have stopped anytime you said it, and I did stop. And you're right. That's not like James."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Kiss me."

He lifted up and pecked my lips.

"Is that a kiss?"

He let out a small laugh before his face fell serious. With his hand at the side of my head, his fingers weaving into my hair, he pulled me toward him. Our lips touched, his sweeping mine. He parted my lips with his, and his tongue entered my mouth slowly, barely there at first, and on the next kiss, deeper, and on the kiss after that, even deeper. Through this kiss he spoke to me, and it was enough for me to believe that he understood me.

"I don't want to remind you of this again," he said. "But I have to tell you not to blame yourself for not leaving the apartment when you had the chance. How many times have you been alone with James? And how many times had he been in your apartment? You asked me what is wrong with you for not leaving. Well, nothing is wrong with you, Bella. _Nothing_. Just because he was mad, or jealous, doesn't mean you would have any reason to expect him to... to hurt you the way he did. You couldn't have known. And you say you had my tie and you wished I was there? Fuck, do you know how many times a fucking day I wish I was there? You gave me that tie as we sat down to talk to the police, and I wanted to fucking tear it up for being there with you when I wasn't."

"Don't, Edward. Let's not do this. We can't change anything, can we? We can't go back and magically have you be there or have me understand the danger of the situation and leave."

"I know. You're right. There's no point in wishing. But I want you to know that you _can_ tell me anything. You're afraid of hurting me because Rosalie told you I'm under post traumatic stress, but to think of you having all of these memories and thoughts in your mind, and holding them there... That's just - I can't live with that. And you, reliving the experience, all by yourself, you don't have to do that. You can come to me. I want you to. Whenever you're feeling that, I want you to come to me, and even if you can't say what you're thinking, just let me hold you. That's what I want to do. I can't do anything else about what happened but I can offer you comfort, so let me. It's the only thing I have to give you."

I looked into his eyes. They were dry just like mine. Maybe we'd cried out all our tears for the night. I kissed him and pushed my fingers through his hair, and when I pulled back, his eyes were closed. "Comfort is not all you give me. You give me everything I have."

I settled down on his chest. We lay quiet for a long time, both of us finally relaxing. I felt myself begin to drift off. The image of his earlier smile as he lifted me up and told me about his place in the art gallery appeared in my mind.

"Edward? I'm really proud of you. About your paintings. Congratulations. I can't remember if I said that, but congratulations." I didn't care that in the wake of all the difficulties of the night, those words might have sounded small and almost insignificant. All I cared about was that I meant them. I was proud of Edward and he should have been proud of himself, and if it was at all possible, that was where I wanted his mind to be before he fell asleep. Not on anything else but what he had accomplished, and what it meant for him as an artist.

"Thank you."


	15. Chapter 15

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 15

Professor Azams was a slight woman. She was petite, nearly bone thin, with skin that matched the brown in her wide-set eyes—the color of burnt ember—but sleek as if sanded and oiled. She sometimes left her reading glasses on while addressing the class, and sometimes didn't. Her voice revealed a deep confidence and the slightest inflection of an African accent. When she spoke, she could almost tell me anything and I'd believe her.

"How many of you dears," she asked, as she always addressed us as_ dears_, "have been advised to write what you know?" She rested her hand on the table, her fingers outstretched, forming a tent, while one hand belonging to each person in the room shot up. "Keep them up," she said. "Now, how many of you dears…" she removed her glasses, folded them up and clasped them in her fist as if they were her prop, "...have been advised to write what you _don't_ know?" Hands around the room went down. None were left up.

"I believe," she said, "you have all been mis_advised_. Forget what you've been told. That, my friends, is a box so small you should never have been shoved in. You're too good for that. Which is why you're here, isn't it? I tend to agree with Boyle when he said, 'Write what you don't know and discover something.' Your next assignment is to write a story based on a topic or theme you don't know. Do the research, interview, observe. _Discover something_."

She stopped talking there, and we had the rest of the hour to convene with our groups, helping each other with revisions of current stories. I took that time to invite Angela to the play. She looked at me as if a second head was growing out of my shoulder as she took the ticket from my hand. Her eyes were wide, her dark eyebrows, nearly traveling the width of her forehead, rose, and her mouth above a pointed chin was pursed. I would have said she looked like a kewpie doll if her lips had not been so full. She was too exotic, too sensual in appearance to be called a kewpie doll.

"I didn't think you liked me."

"Why wouldn't I like you?"

She looked down at her paper as she talked to me, lifting it by the edges and bending it over itself. She was nervous. "Because you never say anything and I talk your ear off. I've tried to be better about it because that's just annoying, when someone never shuts up."

I shook my head. "No, no. That's not you. That's my own personal, um, I'm just not good at… talking." I put my face in my hands and wanted to groan at my own socially-inept self. There were constant new and changed aspects of myself, some of which I now realized I wouldn't be aware of until pointed out. I'd never intended to give the impression I didn't like Angela. I'd only been too insecure, too sociably-paralyzed to talk about myself.

I dropped my hands from my face. "I'd like you to come."

"Okay…" she frowned at me, still seeming uncertain. "Thanks."

~::::::~

A person might think that one awkward invitation a day was enough, but not for me. After school, in Rosalie's office, I told Rosalie about the spot Edward earned at the art gallery in October. "We've decided that's the time to invite Alice and Jasper to visit. You should come too, to the gallery."

I felt my head pull back a bit, surprised by the words that fell so easily from my mouth. I embarrassed myself by speaking without thinking. Sometimes Rosalie felt so much like a friend, I forgot that in actuality she was my doctor. "I mean, if you want to." This was definitely the day for floundering invitations.

"Do _you_ want me to?" Rosalie asked. She was still standing behind her desk. We had yet to take our seats.

"Yes."

"Do you think Edward would mind?"

"No way. He wouldn't mind."

"I'd love to go," she said, smiling and moving out from behind her desk and over toward that second door in the corner. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"I am. I skipped lunch today." She opened that door and walked through, closing it behind her. I frowned, feeling wrong left alone in her office. When she reemerged from behind that door, she was no longer wearing a skirt or heels. She was in a tank top, jeans, and sneakers. She looked like me. "Come on, let's go somewhere to sit and eat. You'll work up an appetite on the way."

"You have a walk-in closet in your office?"

"I'm not going to walk twelve blocks in heels, and I don't do the pencil skirt and sneakers look."

"Twelve blocks?"

"Come on, Bella. They have the best sandwiches and a goat-cheese salad you'd die for. I'm not kidding."

I followed Rosalie to the elevator and out the circling main doors. Outside wasn't nearly as hot as the days earlier. It was finally feeling less like August and more like September.

On the sidewalks of New York, there were always people. I never found it quite as crowded as depicted in movies, where people seemed abundant as ants in a colony, where the characters can barely move without bumping into someone. But there was always someone or some group new to pass, and they'd smile at you if you made eye-contact, though, outside of the Village, most people avoided eye-contact - maybe because they were less focused on their surroundings, and more focused on business and the reasons they were moving from point A to point B. Whatever the reason, I was just fine with the anti-eye-contact. Though I was better about walking in public without panic, I was still hyper-aware of my surroundings.

"Did you call your father yet?"

"Yes. Is this where you get your flowers?" I asked, pointing as we passed a flower shop, an abundance of color poking from every crevice.

"Every week," she said. "How did it go?"

"I didn't tell him, if that's what you're getting at. But…" I stopped walking. "I couldn't lie to him when he asked me how I was. That's good, isn't it? I'm not sure, but it felt good. I can't really explain it; it just felt right."

"Let's keep walking," she said, tapping my arm. "I agree. I think that's good. Did it enter your mind that maybe the reason you can't lie to him is because one day he might know the truth? One day you might _tell_ him the truth?"

I thought about the validity of her statement. Deep down, did I know that I would tell my father someday?

We passed a tall, ornately styled church. I knew it was a church before I even saw the cross on it. I watched it as we passed, finding myself in wonder of what it looked like on the inside. What did church-goers feel when they entered? Was God really in there? Was God really real? And for that matter, was Heaven real? And Hell?

We finally made it to Rosalie's deli, ordered our sandwiches, and took a window table for two.

"Are you different?" I asked after a few bites of my sandwich. "Than you were before?"

"Yes, but so what? I lived in Paris for two years and I was different after that, too."

I stared at her, frowning a little. "But Paris isn't-"

"Bella, I'm not trying to devalue your sense of self. It's just… people change. Everyone does. Not in the same way you did, of course, but this change you're experiencing isn't taking over one hundred percent. There are parts of you that are still the same person, huge parts of you. And there are other parts that you just might have to get used to. Okay, like when you fall and cut your leg, for instance. It hurts, it brings tears, you might need stitches, it might leave a scar, but the blood that you bleed is still your own."

"Your blood changes when it hits oxygen, though."

"Exactly. The blood that you release changes, but the blood in your veins remains the same. And it continues to produce as long as you're alive."

"Explain," I said, not quite following.

She put her sandwich down, and dabbed at her lips. "A part of you changed, immediately, after what happened with James, and that part of you took over for a long time, didn't it?"

I nodded. "It still does."

"Right, but not quite as much. Not quite to the extent as, perhaps, the first month? You're finding parts of you that are the same - you love the same, don't you? You still trust Edward?"

"Yes."

"Bella, there are people that experience what you've been through who wouldn't have ever put their trust in any man right after it happened, not even Edward. And while you're discovering that you're different, at the same time, you're still much the same person you've always been in many aspects of your life, and you're also continuing to change and grow. That's what it is to be human. You've been hurt by James, and you may carry that with you for the rest of your life, but you have room inside yourself to carry so much more."

"You speak in analogies a lot."

Rosalie smiled. "That's the way my mind works. Is it not helpful?" Her smile faded slowly as if, for the few seconds before I nodded, she held insecurities of her abilities as a therapist.

"It's very helpful."

I sipped my iced tea, leaving my sandwich alone - still not very hungry - and I asked her about Paris. She said that she'd taken part in a student exchange program in high school, and had planned to return to France for college.

"But that was before… before I was hurt. My plans changed, obviously. My parents knew about my rape, and I was put into group therapy. After learning just how many girls and women go through what we've been through? I knew what my life's calling was, so to speak."

"How old were you when it... when it happened?"

"Seventeen." She said it between chews, and then took a sip of her drink.

"You're so calm. I can't imagine ever being as calm and strong-minded as you are."

"Well, Bella, it's been eleven years. Time helps. Addressing your problems, rather than ignoring them, helps."

My mind clouded up with questions that I couldn't voice. I imagined how different Rosalie's life might be if she hadn't been raped. Would she have gone to France? She certainly wouldn't be here with me… helping me. My eyes narrowed as I thought of the events that led us both to where we were right now.

"Do you believe in God?" I blurted the question out and took a quick drink to wash my dry throat, too late to take the question back.

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I was raised going to church. What about you?"

"I think I used to, but it's hard believing in a god who lets your mother leave you when you're just a kid and allows people like James to even exist in the world."

"I can see that." She nodded and then gazed out the window. I followed her gaze - nothing really to see but buildings you couldn't view the tops of, and people and cars.

She turned back to me. "What about believing in a god who doesn't control us, but guides us, or leads us, gives us the free will to choose to follow or not follow His lead? A god who instills in us the hope and desire to live and to reach for happiness, despite our hardships?"

I thought about what she said. My whole life, I'd never felt like anyone but me was making my decisions or my mistakes. If I believed in a god who controlled fate, then I'd have to believe that I didn't have any control at all over my life. I couldn't believe that. It didn't make any sense to me. And anyone who does believe that, that their fate is planned and guaranteed, well they never really have to account for their actions, do they? James could then blame the damage he'd done on God and fate.

"Why are you so smart, Rosalie?"

"I told you. I spent time in Paris." She laughed and pushed the final bite of her sandwich into her mouth.

"I won't charge your insurance for today," she said on our walk back to her office.

"Why not? I still had my session."

"Not exactly," she said. "You may have felt less open to talk about yourself out here and more inclined to include me as part of the conversation. And besides, as unprofessional as this may be, maybe I needed a friend today."

It was the first real sign of vulnerability I'd ever witnessed from her - the admittance that she needed something, a friend.

We came upon the church again and something stopped me. It could have been something in me or something outside of me. I wasn't sure which. I stared at the huge, heavy double doors.

"Bella?" Rosalie said.

"I'll be right back." I pulled one door open and entered the empty church. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but the soft red glow from the golden lights and the stained glass rainbow Mary on the window made me feel like I'd found it. There were long, gleaming wooden pews, rows and rows of them, and an altar, a stage at the front. I sat in a back row, the wood hard and cool against my rear-end. A bronze Jesus on a cross hung on the wall ahead of me. I knew this was a Catholic church and I knew I wasn't Catholic. But did that matter? I figured if God was real, then no matter which church I was in, God was still God.

My prayers were whispers in my heart. They didn't leave my lips, and I hoped that God could hear them anyway. I hoped it didn't seem someone wanted her prayers answered any more if she was brave enough to say them out loud. I prayed that I would get better. That if I had to carry James, and what he did to me, forever, that I'd get used to it, be okay with it. But if I could change, if that were possible, then please help me.

I prayed the trivial prayer of being comfortable with wearing a dress someday. I prayed the more significant prayer that I could be enough to make and keep Edward happy, the way he did for me. I prayed that James would be found and that when he was, I'd have the strength to face him. But more than that, I prayed that James would be found so that he could never again hurt anyone else.

And then I thanked God. I surprised myself for finding things without even giving a lot of thought to it to be thankful for. I thanked God for a dad who stayed with me, who acted both the mother and the father role; thanked Him for leading me to Edward; for guiding me somehow to Rosalie, and for her hunger today that drove us out of the office and onto the streets of New York, not as doctor and patient, but as friends. And then I cried. The river in my stomach built by James was finally getting smaller. It was becoming a pond - maybe someday it would be a puddle. The more I let out, the stronger I felt.

Rosalie had followed me in but I hadn't heard or felt her presence until she was beside me, one arm around me. My head fell to her shoulder and I thanked her just as I'd thanked God - only out loud this time. She didn't say anything to me, just rested her head against mine.

"You're my friend, Rosalie."

"You're my friend, too," she said, poking my arm, and even though our heads were still resting together and I couldn't see her face, I could hear the smile in her voice.

~::::::~

Jessica and Angela were both in heels and short, clingy dresses. Jessica had curls in her hair, and Angela had lifted hers loosely up, with a few deliberate hairs here-and-there framing her face. As skinny as she was, her heels were higher than Jessica's, and she appeared as though her ankles might snap off with every step, but she walked with confidence regardless, like she'd done it a million times before, and maybe she had.

I felt way under-dressed in my jeans and found my eyes scouring the lobby, taking note of anyone else who was as casually dressed as me. With each new fashion casualty I found, I felt better about myself, and relaxed.

On our way in from the cab, Angela, on my right, had kept whispering to me about how cute Edward was. She wouldn't stop.

"Your boyfriend is cute, too," I said, though I wasn't sure I meant it because I'd never taken the time to look closely enough at Ben.

"I know. I know. I love Ben. He's the best. The absolute best, but Bella, Edward is… I mean, I'm sorry, I am, but how do you ever take your eyes off him?"

I glanced at Edward to see if he was paying attention to us, but he was listening to whatever Jessica was saying at his other side.

I turned and looked up at Angela. "Edward is Edward. I've known him for, almost forever, it seems. I guess I'm just used to looking at him." It was strange to have to explain something like this, especially to someone who was becoming a friend.

"You say that with such indifference. As if you're not aware of how gorgeous your own boyfriend is."

"Oh, I _know_ he's gorgeous, don't question that." I squeezed Edward's arm, my head against his shoulder, and his lips naturally came to my head, while Jessica was still erupting with chatter.

As we neared the front of the line, I let Edward's arm free so he could reach into his pocket for our tickets.

"What a lovely couple," the ticket woman said, glancing back and forth between Edward and Jessica. "You two enjoy the show."

Edward wore jeans and a white button down shirt, untucked, and even though I was in a silk top, the deep color of eggplant, I wasn't oblivious to the fact that he looked better than me, and it only made sense someone would assume his girlfriend would be formally dressed, with hair and a made up face to match - someone who wore more than simply lip gloss, mascara, and a high ponytail.

Until that moment, just after Angela had pointed out Edward's stunning looks, I'd never felt the distance between Edward's and my attractiveness - maybe because appearance was usually the last thing on my mind. But just then I felt almost inadequate, and all based on looks. I felt like the little sister.

Edward looked down at Jessica, then he turned to me, tucking me snuggly into his side, his arm crossing us, his hand on my face as he kissed the side of my head, and then turned me to face him so his kiss could land on my lips. "We will," he said.

The woman's mouth opened and closed in an attempt to talk her way out of the predicament she'd talked her way into, but the only words she could get out before we lost interest were, "I-I…"

As we passed her, I brought both of my arms around Edward's waist, all feelings of inadequacy gone.

Throughout the night, it wasn't more evident to anyone than it was to me that most of my attention was on Edward, while I offered only the tiniest attention to Angela and Jessica, as if obligated to it. That wasn't how I felt, though - obligated. It was just that Edward was always the person I was most comfortable with, and I was not unaware that he'd become my crutch not only through my trauma, but in my everyday life as well.

Luckily, Angela and Jessica had hit it off and would exchange phone numbers by the end of the show. Even if I hadn't broadened my friendship with Angela that night, at least Jessica made a new friend.

During the play, Edward's fingers were playing up and down the nape of my neck, tickling, caressing, and when I turned to him, his eyes were on the stage. His touches on me were done subconsciously. But I felt them and closed my eyes while Berger and the tribe sang the title song.

As the curtain closed for intermission and the lights brightened, Edward left delicate kisses up the _safe_ side of my neck. "I love when you wear your hair like this," he whispered. Goose bumps crept up the left side of my body.

"Do you write as good as Bella?" Jessica asked Angela. "Because this girl can write! You probably know that."

Angela nodded.

"She wrote this story about this pregnant woman who floated on her back over the Rio Grande to Texas just so that her baby could be born in America instead of Mexico. I mean, where does she come up with stuff?"

"I met a woman like that," I said. "She was my mom's eighty-year-old neighbor in Phoenix. I just took parts of her story and embellished them."

Jessica seemed not to acknowledge my statement, almost as though I were a magician giving away trade secrets. She wanted to keep the illusion of my vast creativity. "And that woman, her strength… this story was what, eight pages?" Jessica looked around Angela, at me.

"Ten," I said, smiling.

"Ten pages, and you felt like you knew this woman, everything about her, what she'd been through, even if her life had only been eluded to. It was so… so… unreal. No, _surreal_."

I didn't correct her when she said eluded instead of alluded. I was too in awe of what she meant by her words to worry about the literal meaning.

"Jess, what are you talking about? Are you serious?" I'd never heard her talk about my stories like this. I used to have her proofread them for me and would ask her if they'd made sense or needed more details, and she'd tell me if she had questions, but she'd never gushed over any of them.

"Bella, don't be modest. God. As if you aren't aware of your talent. You're in freaking _graduate_ school for it, which you had to apply for. I remember how nervous you were. But was I ever nervous?"

My gape turned into a baffled frown and I shook my head.

"No, I wasn't. I knew you'd get in, didn't I?"

"You knew," I said, as if I was entranced. How had I never seen her this clearly before? "You are always surprising me, Jessica. How many layers do you have?"

"What?" she asked, completely confused by what I meant by layers, which only had me even more perplexed over Jessica. "I'm only in this one dress. It's not even lined."

"I know what that's like," Edward said, "being continually surprised by someone." He turned my face toward him and kissed my lips. "I have to read that story, Bella."

~::::::~

Though I'd been well-aware of the of the night's challenges, I was much more conscious of the sort of magic of it all. A theater like a palace, the carpet lain more in rich mosaics than patterns, architecture that must have taken years, maybe decades, to design and erect, massive tulip-shaped columns, and rounded balconies. Even if it had been built nearly ninety years prior, it seemed it was all there for us, on this night, my first Broadway show with the best man on Earth.

I kissed that best man so hungrily that I barely took notice when we dropped to the sofa wrapped in each other, but as soon as my legs sank into the cushion, I moved to straddle Edward's lap, climbing my fingers up the sides of his head, weaving through his hair.

"Edward…" I said, my voice heavy with breaths.

"Bella…"

On my knees, over Edward's lap, I hovered above him, my hands holding his face, keeping him there on my lips as we kissed. Our kisses grew stronger and Edward's hands were up and down my back, never stopping in their movement. His touch, even on my back, made my heart speed up and my desire grow. I felt it in my panties.

Out of breath, I pulled back for some air and waited for him to open his eyes. They were glazed over, probably matching mine in desire. "I love you," I said, my fingertips caressing his face lightly, and his eyes closed.

He swept his hands soft over me, up my back under my top, then down over my hips and my thighs, and back up again.

"Bella… B… this is… what you're doing to me. We have to… we have to… slow down."

My mouth covered his words and his breath. His tongue reached for mine. Neither of us were slowing down. I pulled his shirt up and over his head, and he let me, lifting his arms, wiggling himself free. I followed my hands down his neck and chest with my lips. "Let's try," I said.

"Bella." He held my waist, attempting to move me off of him, but I was fast to place my lips on his again, and he pulled on me instead of pushing against me. My stomach jumped into my chest when I felt just how close to him he was pulling me, and I quickened the pace of my lips against his. I was so used to his taste, his smell, and just him, that I was sure I could do this. Sure of it. His touch alone had been enough at times to help me fight off flashbacks. All I had to do was remember I was with Edward. Just Edward. I was ready to try that. I paused our kiss only to take off my top. He watched me.

"Let's try," I said again, and kissed him before he could respond. I took off my bra without breaking the kiss, then held him closer, let him feel me. I heard a whimper come from his throat upon our skin contact, and it made me smile and hold him tighter with my arms around his neck. My desire was becoming a need. I needed him. I needed to feel all of him.

"I love you," I couldn't help but say again, and then I continued the kiss, hard and strong, demanding. I felt his hand, his touch on my breast. It was an automatic movement for him. I could tell he hadn't thought about it until it was there because of the swiftness with which he pulled away, perhaps remembering the times I'd made him stop. He left my breast cold and pulsing for his touch.

"It's okay. You can touch me." I placed his hand back on my breast and he groaned into my mouth.

"Bella… Bella, slow down," he said, his lips against mine, mangling the words.

I pulled away from him, drifting my fingers from his eyebrows to his jaw. We were both panting for breath. I nudged his face up toward mine, giving him a light kiss. "If I slow down, will you try? Do you want to?"

"Do I… _want_ to?"

I stood up, walked around the sofa, and disappeared from his sight, into our room. "I'm going to do this," I told myself. My decision was made. I took off my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed, naked, waiting for him, looking toward the open door, feeling cold and vulnerable, but determined. And there he appeared in the doorway, staring at me. I stared back at him, keeping my eyes on his face. Edward, not James. Brown hair, not blond. Green eyes, not blue. Green eyes that were drifting up and down my body.

I saw him swallow and his wide eyes met mine.

"Are you just going to stand there?" I asked.

"Bella, I…" His expression seemed to change instantly from desire and want, to sadness.

Oh,god. He was going to say no. My eyes shifted to my clothes on the floor and I wished they were still on me. I wanted to be covered.

"Don't look down," he said. "You're beautiful."

I let my eyes meet his again.

"Beautiful." He took a few steps toward me.

"Let's try, Edward. Let's just try. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work."

He came to me, his pants and shoes still on. His shoes were the first to go. He cupped my face in his hands. My eyes wanted to close but I didn't give in. His face moved lower and lower until his lips were on mine again. His kisses were soft and I let him lead the kiss, his breath, his heat, filling my mouth and warming my skin. Edward was relenting and he revealed it in his kisses, and in the way he inhaled his breath so deeply, like he'd been holding it. His hold was strong on my face, just like I had held his in the living room. He didn't want me to go and I wasn't going anywhere.

I ran my fingers down his chest to his stomach, and unbuttoned his jeans. His breathing grew heavier as he kissed me, both of us worked up again already. He seemed to force himself back from my face, like pulling a magnet from its metal counterpart.

"Bella," he said on the wind of a heavy breath. "I'll stop whenever you want. Don't think I won't stop." And his lips came back to mine.

His words vibrated and re-vibrated through me, following his kisses and his touch.

I pushed his pants down and he stepped out, standing only in his boxers. I let my fingers graze him over his boxers, and he leaned into my touch, but then backed up.

"Bella, I don't. I don't know."

"Do you want me to stop touching you, Edward?"

He shook his head.

I pushed his boxers down, and when he stepped out of those, I gazed for a moment, hesitated, and then took him into my hand. I gave him one long finger-tip caress, and then circled his tip with my thumb. He let out a sigh, a controlled moan, and I thought it felt as good to me as it did to him to have him in my hand. I gripped him gently, giving him a light touch at first. His skin was so smooth, and his desire so evident, that I might have been able to take him into my mouth, but I wasn't willing to try that just yet. As much as I wanted this to happen, I had to be very careful; I knew that. His eyes closed, his breaths deepening. "Bella..."

I kept touching him, let him feel it. He deserved to just feel this.

"We're just going to try." I stood up, licking his chest, leaving kisses in the wake of my tongue, then quickened the pace of my hand strokes, tightening my grip just a little, and he moaned.

"Just try."

"Bel-" He stilled my hand, took in another deep breath and opened his eyes, blinked a few times.

"Edward?"

"Just, Bella. Don't do this for me. Okay? Not for me. Make sure you're doing it for you."

"I'm doing it for both of us. For us." I reached around his neck and pulled him against me. I felt him hard against my stomach. "You feel it, don't you?"

He nodded.

"Well, so do I." I brushed my hands up and down his arms, over his biceps, down to his wrists and up to his shoulders again. I continued my explorations as I spoke. "Edward, my body wants you. I've grown more and more accustomed to your touch. It's your touch, your voice, your lips that keep me grounded." I reached up and touched his lips "It's you. And you know that, don't you? I know you do."

"I know I help you."

"I want you. So much. I feel it inside, in the same places you feel it. Lately, it's been aching me when you leave. And not just in my heart." I looked into his eyes so he would know exactly what I was trying to get across in my own bashful way. "The ache is deep inside. And I ache for _you_. I know I can do this."

"Your words… god damn… I'm wrapped around your finger, Bella." He brought a hand to the back of my neck and kissed me. "I want you so bad. How couldn't I? I'll try, but you have to tell me if you get scared or if you see _him_. Promise me. I don't want to be inside you if his image is in your mind. I can't be connected to him like that."

I hugged him, my arms wrapping around his back and I kissed his chest, feeling his fine hairs against my lips.

"Edward, that might be inevitable. I don't know. The first time, no matter when it is, I don't know if I can't not be reminded of what happened. But you will never be connected to him like that."

I looked up at him, giving him my eyes so he could see the truth in them. "I said no to _him_, but I'm saying yes to you." I traced his lips with my finger. "Just so we're clear, I'm saying _yes _to you, Edward. I want to be with you. Nobody else. Just you." I stroked up his torso again, over his chest to his shoulders.

His lips rushed to mine. "No one else," he said between kisses. I smiled against his lips. He smiled back. Smiling kisses, we traded them.

"Just…" I said, but kissed him again.

He backed off. "What?"

"Stay here. I'll be right back."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I called from the bathroom as I reached into the medicine cabinet and took out his aftershave lotion. I squeezed some into my hand and smelled it. Edward.

I rubbed my hands together on my way back to the bedroom and when I got to him I massaged it over his jaw and neck.

"Do I stink?"

"No." I laughed. "Rosalie says that the sense of smell is the strongest when trying to ground myself in the present. I'm going to use all the help I can. I really, _really_ want this to work."

"I know you do,but if it doesn't, that'll be okay."

"I know," I said, although I also knew I'd be devastated if it didn't work.

I pulled him on top of me, and he lifted me, settling us both higher on the bed. I felt the comforter beneath me, the soft mattress. I felt Edward over me, his skin on mine, though he was careful to keep his weight off me. His hands explored my body, so different than any way I'd ever been touched before, so uniquely Edward. I tasted the salty taste of his shoulders, sweating in the desire we had both been suppressing for too long. His hands, his fingers, his lips breezed over my body. I tried to keep my eyes open, focusing only on Edward. But when he kissed me down my chest to my stomach, I couldn't see him anymore. "Edward?" I said, because I needed to hear his voice. He understood.

"It's me, sweetheart," he said to my belly button. My breath caught in my chest. He continued his kisses over my stomach to my side. "I love you," he said, sliding his lips down to my hip, then lower still to my thigh. I released my breath. He pushed my legs apart with just his fingertips and kissed my knee, letting his lips trail down the inside of my thigh, so slow.

"I love your legs," he said as he caressed along my leg from my ankle and up my calf. "Perfect legs." His lips continued along my thigh, traveling down, down, down. And then his lips and fingers were gone. He was hovering above me again, his eyes inline with mine. "I want to touch you," he said, slinking his hand down my stomach.

"Then touch me," I whispered. He gave me a small smile and then I felt them, his fingers between my legs. My legs parted wider, and my eyes wanted to close again, but I kept them open on Edward's face. His eyes did close, and his lips and tongue played with my lips and tongue as his fingers continued their own teasing. And his mouth moved down my neck to my chest and over my breasts while his fingers, his fingers didn't stop.

"Edw-mmm." It was his name and a moan all at once. This was Edward. Only Edward could make me feel this way. Only Edward. "Edward…" I said.

He kissed his way back up to my lips. "Say that again," he whispered.

"Edward…" I breathed.

His eyes were open on mine, searching, as he pressed a finger into me. He watched my reaction before he slipped another finger in, and my hips lifted against his hand. He let out a breath and kissed me again, and then he pulled his fingers out and moved his hand to my thigh as he positioned himself between my legs. We were face to face. He looked right at me and I looked right at him. One of his hands was at my face, his fingers giving me tender caresses, the other was on the bed, propping himself over me, still keeping most of his weight off me. He let his hand drift from my face, my body, to my thigh and held on. He paused as his tip began to enter me.

"Bella, can you feel me?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I feel you."

He closed his eyes, letting out only a whisper of a moan and then opened them again. His hand was soft over my thigh, up my hip to my waist. He kissed me. "I love you, Bella. I love every part of you."

I let out a breath and he was still looking into my eyes.

"I'll never hurt you." His entrance was slow, so slow. There was no plunge; it was all ease and control. The only pain was my ache for more.

"Bella?" He was completely inside and he was motionless.

"I'm okay," I said, my hands moving between his arms and around his back, up to his shoulders. I held on to him. "It feels good, Edward. You feel so good."

He started to move, the feeling overwhelming me and apparently him too because I heard him groan, and then his eyes were on mine, worried. But his groan had only made me want even more, and I pushed up and against him with my hips, and pulled him down by his shoulders, and we both continued moving together. I closed my eyes. We were making love, it was working, and it felt right. And I lost my breath at the thought of it. I opened my eyes again before James could flash in the darkness. I saw Edward through water. He paused.

"Good tears," I whispered.

He didn't say anything, just kissed under my eyes and continued. He didn't stop like the other times. I was so grateful I held his face and kissed all over until I was so overcome with feeling I could no longer kiss him. Instead I held him at his waist and pulled him tighter to me, tighter. I could feel my orgasm right there, almost there, but as I let myself go, concentration waning, there was one flash of blue eyes and the feeling was gone.

I took a deep breath in, smelling the scent of Edward's aftershave lotion, concentrating on Edward again, his green eyes on mine, his face, expressions constantly changing with his pleasure. I felt him moving against me, filling me, my needs, and there it was again, my orgasm. I could feel it making its way up my body from my toes; it had me moaning, but somehow it wasn't getting to me. It kept falling away. I couldn't let go of my concentration for fear I'd see James, but the concentration was keeping my orgasm at bay. It wasn't going to happen for me and I was okay with that. Edward and I were making love, and at that moment, that feat alone felt better than any orgasm.

"Bella," Edward gasped. "I'm sorry… I can't… hold…" I understood he couldn't hold back any longer and I didn't stop him. In fact, I moved against him, encouraging his orgasm. And he groaned as his movements sped up and I kept his pace from below him so he would know I was okay. I felt him shudder inside me. He stayed there for a few moments, holding me close, kissing me. And I held him too. "Bella, I'm so sorry. I couldn't hold off. I tried so hard. Are you okay? Are you all right?"

"Yes." I smiled and ran my hand through his hair around the side of his head. "We did it."

He moved over, just a little, and his fingers traced lines up and down my stomach. "We did."

"It will never be that hard again."

"Was it very hard?" His eyes were on mine, his tracing stopped.

"It just took concentration. I meant it will only get easier from now on. You couldn't have been more perfect. Your lips." I touched them. "And your hands." I moved his hand to trace on my stomach again. "You were so careful."

"But you didn't-you didn't…"

"It's okay." I shook my head. I didn't want him to think that it wasn't good for me just because I hadn't reached an orgasm.

"I want you to feel it too. This was for us, remember? Not me." His hand swept over one of my breasts, his palm light over my nipple, and his lips met mine, parting, his tongue reaching. He brought his fingers down my stomach and between my legs, where he moved them in circles. At the same time, he kissed me down my throat to my breast, and when his tongue found my nipple, my back arched. He moved across with a line of kisses to my other breast.

"Help me out," he said. "What's good for you? What do you want me to do? I'll do anything. Just tell me, Bella."

"Can you just… keep your eyes on mine? It helps when I see your eyes."

He did that. His eyes were still slightly wet with the satisfaction of his orgasm, as his fingers slipped easily inside and then outside of me, teasing, and back in again. I gasped, lifting my hips, my eyes rolling to a close, and his fingers were faster. I didn't know how he could move so fast, and still I wanted it faster, and as I pushed toward him with my hips, his fingers sped up even more. My breathing deepened, and James was so far away from my thoughts, and he stayed away, while all I could do was feel. I tilted my head back, and Edward's lips came to my chin, as my breathing picked up even more. My hand reached for him and found his arm. I stroked down his muscle, and held tightly. His fingers were in and out of me. In and out. And then circling around, and back in, and if he didn't stop or slow, I was going to lose myself.

"You're so close," Edward said, and with his deep voice, I was gone, feeling Edward everywhere through just his fingers and his lips. I felt him in the vibrations that moved through my body, releasing moans, until I was left quivering. I had to close my legs and turn away from Edward because the feeling, so long awaited, was too intense. He moved his hand, sliding it over my hip and up my waist to my rib cage, and he turned me toward him. When I opened my eyes, Edward's were there to greet me.

"Are your fingers tired?" I asked, because I was strangely nervous and didn't know what else to say. For all the months we'd been together, we were still sexually inexperienced with each other.

He smiled and kissed me. "Bella, I love you so much. You know that, don't you?"

"I know, Edward." My hands moved up and down his arm, my nerves subsiding. "You tell me and you show me. You show me everyday."

"I just want to make sure you know - that there is no doubt."

"Why would I doubt you?"

"I don't know. I just know that it's hard for you to trust people, but you can trust me. That's all I'm saying. You made it clear that you were saying 'yes' to me. Well, I want to make it clear that I'm saying 'yes' to you. I'm here with you, for good. I will never hurt you. You can trust me."

"I trust you. You are such a permanent part of me. I've never felt this way with anyone - never felt this safe or secure with anyone, ever."

He wrapped me in his arms, rolled me on top of him and kissed my face over and over until I laughed. He laughed too and kept kissing.

"I love it when you're happy," he said. "Always be happy."

This was love, right here. This was real love.

I fell asleep on top of Edward, my cheek against his chest.


	16. Chapter 16

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 16

When I woke, it was still dark and I wasn't on top of Edward anymore. I awoke with a gasp - crying. I heard myself scream and it sounded like it came from somewhere else in the room, somewhere outside of me. I was sitting up but couldn't remember moving to that position.

"Bella!" His hands were on my bare back and I jumped. His hands were gone. I turned around.

"Bella," Edward said, this time in a whisper. "Did you have a nightmare?" He sat up slowly, reached a hesitant hand toward me, and touched my shoulder.

"I-I don't know." I swiped at my eyes.

"You're not wearing any clothes. I should have made sure you put something on before we fell asleep."

"That's not exactly it, I don't think. Maybe part of it, but…" When I tried to remember my dream, it was like I hadn't had a dream at all. I closed my eyes - saw James, smiling - opened them again. "Why won't he go away? He won't get out of my head!" I brought the heels of my hands to my temples. "This is _my_ head! Why did he do this to me? I'm ruined. Why did he do it, Edward?"

"Oh, Bella… Bella, I don't know why. Come here. Please, come here." I leaned against him and let him wrap his arms around me. "You're not ruined. You had a nightmare or a flashback, maybe triggered by last night."

"No. We made love and it was beautiful. It was nothing like James. That can't be a trigger. Not you!" I hadn't noticed I was hitting his shoulder with the side of my fist until he took a hold of my hand and brought it to his lips.

"Not me, Bella. I just meant because it was our first time since…"

"Maybe. Maybe that's it. I don't remember my dream." I let my hand fall to his chest, wanting to feel Edward under my fingertips. I kissed his chest, and then it flashed through my mind, my dream.

I _had_ dreamt of James but it had been of an event before the attack. In my dream he was my friend again. I could never decide which was worse: Remembering James the rapist or James the friend. Thoughts of either repulsed me. I shook my head against Edward's chest.

"I remember my dream, but I don't think it was a nightmare, not really."

Edward's face was low, so close to mine, and he rubbed his nose along my cheek to my ear. It was a simple gesture, but at the same time, very soothing. His voice was quiet and deep. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Remember that rooftop party we went to last summer? Maria's Fourth of July party? James barbecued shish kabobs. People were spraying each other with water bottles, it was so hot."

He laughed. "I remember. You dreamt of that?"

I nodded. "I had my hair in braids. It was too hot to wear down."

"You looked cute."

"James kept tugging on them, calling me Pippi all night."

Edward didn't react to that, just continued tracing my arm with his fingers.

We hadn't had a chance to see the fireworks. We had all been on the roof to watch, but after eating, after it was almost dark enough, there was a fight. James and Edward had rushed me out. But no, mostly Edward had rushed me out. James had stayed to fight. He'd said it was his fight, even when Edward tried to get him to come with us.

Earlier in the evening, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. On that day, clouds seemed nonexistent in the world, the sky one solid blue dome overhead breathing heat down on us. Some guy, Dominic, a mutual friend of James and his girlfriend - or friend-with-benefits - Maria, had asked for a sip of my margarita. I didn't want some stranger's lips on my drink so I told Dominic no.

"You're a bitch." His words slurred.

My eyes widened. "Seriously? I don't even know you. Get your own drink."

"Fuck-you," he said, as if it was one word.

All I could do was stare at him, shocked by the way he was talking to me. He swayed a little, back and forth. I thought if I gave him a little tap he might fall over.

"Get away from her!" James's hand on Dominic's shoulder pushed him back, throwing him off balance. He fell against one of the lounge chairs, and righted himself to his feet again.

"If you talk to her again, you're out," James said.

"James, man, shit. I didn't know you were her bodyguard. Look, I'm sorry, honey," Dominic said, turning his attention back on me. "I just wanted a taste is'all." He kept backing away.

James misted my face with his water bottle. The cool water was refreshing. "You tell me if he comes near you again."

"Sure, bodyguard, whatever you say." I followed him back over to the grill, past a couple of people lying around on lounge chairs, and watched him turn the kabobs over.

"These marinated all night - my own recipe," he said. "Here, try this." He pulled a little piece of chicken off the grill, shook it, blew on it, and put it in my mouth. "What do you think?"

I shrugged. "It's all right."

"It's fucking unbelievable and you know it. Smart ass."

I laughed. "Give me another one."

"You're just going to have to wait like everyone else, Pippi."

"Yoo-hoo, Isa-Bella?" I turned to see Maria sauntering toward me in her long batik sarong, her black hair dripping like dark curtains of rain over her shoulders, covering her bikini top. It made her appear topless. Maria was one of those women who was not just sexy, but could actually have you believe she was the manifestation of sex itself. Her legs were long and her brown skin seemed to glow. Her eyes were the vibrant blue of a tropical fish - you could nearly see through them. She carried a mystique about her that was increased by a deep voice and partnered with a Portuguese accent. She was holding the margarita pitcher and refilled my glass for me. "Why don't you stop hanging over my man and go discover one of your own?"

"Impossible when he's feeding me chicken. I'm staying right here."

"I told you, you're not getting any more, Pippi," said James. "That was just a teaser."

"Tease _me_," Maria said to James, placing the pitcher on a nearby table, then giving his butt a squeeze. He tossed a piece of chicken at her. She caught it in her hand and put it in her own mouth. "Ai! That's hot. Blow on it next time, you eediot."

James laughed.

"Isa-Bella," Maria said. She always said my name like that, emphasizing both parts, as if each was equally important. "I have the perfect guy for you."

"Don't say god-damned Dom," James said.

"What's wrong with Dominic?" His name was Dominic, but Maria pronounced it _Domineek, _which I thought sounded better.

"He's a drunk prick and you know it."

"It's not him, anyway," she said, waving her hand. "It's-"

"I-I don't want to be set up," I said. "I hate that."

"That's right, Little B. You tell her." James slipped a red-pepper chunk over a skewer.

"It's not a set up," Maria said. "I only want you to _know_ him. Drink your margarita. Then you'll want a set up, I guarantee."

"She'll meet him some other time," James said. "She's having chicken right now." He grabbed another piece, blew on it, and fed it to me. He wiped my lips with his thumb.

"James," Maria said, "if you don't stop that, I'm going to turn into Saci Perere and make you burn your food."

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to flirt with your sister right here in front of me."

"She's not my sister, Maria. And who's Saci Per..."

"Saci Perere. It's Brazilian folklore. He's a magic, mischievous little guy with one leg. Your food will be burning before you know it."

"You're awesome," James said, and leaned over to kiss her. I laughed at the image of Maria becoming a little one-legged boy.

Edward walked by carrying bags of ice on his shoulder. He dumped them into the cool chest and tossed an ice cube at me. I dropped the first one so he tossed me another. That one I caught and rubbed it on my neck.

"How are you not sweating?" I asked Maria.

"Women don't sweat."

"Then I must not be a woman because I am drenched."

"No, lady, I'm joking with you. I grew up on the equator. I'm familiar with days hotter and more humid than this."

Edward handed James a Heineken. "About time, Masen. How long does it take to grab a couple of bags of ice from down the street?"

"I think he got side-cornered by that chickie," Maria said.

"What chickie?" I asked.

"What's her name… Alana, Alina?" James asked.

"Irina," Edward said. "No way. She's friends with my ex. I'm steering clear of that."

"What is wrong with you and Isa-Bella avoiding the hooks?"

"Hook-ups," James corrected.

"Hook-ups," she repeated. "Don't you like making love? Maybe you two should make love. You could have pretty babies."

Edward and I exchanged glances and then started laughing. James, too.

"I've been looking for you," Irina said, slipping an arm around Edward's waist. "I was waiting for you downstairs."

"He's not interested in you, honey," Maria said. "You carry baggage."

Edward, James, and I laughed harder. We weren't laughing at Irina; we were laughing at Maria's bluntness, but Irina stormed away, insulted anyway.

"Oh shit! Maria, you did it." James jumped toward the barbecue and pulled off his shish kabobs, tossing them on a platter. "You distracted me and now my glorious food is overcooking."

"Serves you right," she said.

Edward, James, and I sat on the ground to eat. Maria pulled up a small table to sit on. _Women do not sit on rooftop floors_. After we ate, Maria went down to her apartment to blend more margaritas, James had to throw some more chicken on the grill because it was too good and people were requesting more, and Edward was pulled away by Irina. That was when Dominic approached me, apparently having forgotten all about our little incident earlier. Apparently forgetting who I was, altogether.

"You look familiar," he said. "You look nice, too. I like these things here." He reached out and lifted one of my braids. I shooed his hand away and glanced over at James. He was watching. I saw him give a chin nod to Edward. Both of them came toward me from opposite directions. Irina was left where she was, mouth agape, possibly mid-sentence.

"Dominic, you should go talk to someone else," I said. "Someone interested."

"Feisty," he said and stepped toward me, only to be pushed back by James.

"What did I say to you? You stay away from her!"

"Don't. It's okay, James," I said. "He was just leaving."

"Fuck, James. She's not your girlfriend. Let her make up her own mind." Dominic reached for my braid again.

James hit his hand away, and not softly.

Dominic shook his hand, his face reddening. "You have Maria with the 'fuck-me' body. This one here with the 'fuck-me' eyes is fair game."

Edward stood behind me, his hand on my elbow. "I think it's obvious Bella's made up her mind. Back off!"

James got right in Dominic's face. "What the fuck did you just say? Get the fuck out!"

"I'll leave her alone, man, but I ain't leaving." He walked away, only to yell over his shoulder. "You can't guard her all night, anyway."

"Bella, you gotta go." James pulled on my arm. I jerked it away.

"Why? No, I don't. I'll miss the fireworks."

"There's going to be a fight, that's why. Get our girl outta here, man."

Edward took my hand.

"Who's fighting?" I asked him.

Edward didn't answer me. He didn't have to. The answer was obvious. "Jay, you should come, too," he said. "You don't need this."

"Nah, man, this is my fight."

"Just make him leave," I said. "Don't fight over this, James. Not tonight."

"Come on, Bella," Edward said. "If we leave now we might be able to get to an open spot and still see the fireworks."

"James, don't do this," I said, but his back was already turned and he was already stalking toward the other end of the roof.

"Bella, you heard what Dominic said about you. There's no stopping James. His mind is made up." Just as Edward said that, James threw his fist at Dominic and Edward threw an arm around me, guiding me toward the stairs.

Downstairs and outside, Edward and I had heard the fireworks exploding into the sky, but the tall buildings blocked our view.

In bed now, leaning against Edward, remembering that Fourth of July, I looked up at him. "I thought James was fighting to defend me that night, but now I think he was fighting out of possessiveness."

"You're probably right."

"Why couldn't we recognize it back then?"

"How could we have? He never seemed like a threat to you, and he liked any excuse for a fight. And me? Fuck, sometimes I did whatever he said because it wasn't worth arguing about."

I shook my head. "I want to forget about it all."

"Then let's forget about it, Bella. Remember last night. Like you said, it was beautiful." He kissed me. "It was amazing."

"It was," I said.

"And you didn't have a flashback, not during. I only felt you tense up once and when I looked at you, your eyes were clear, and you were pulling on me." He lifted my hand to kiss it. "I love the way you touch me."

I smiled.

"There you are, baby. Stay. Stay happy." He kissed my smile, his tongue over my lips and then inside my mouth.

My hand met his shoulder and pulled him closer. As his lips moved to my neck, and I tilted my head back, his weight began to lower me to the bed. I didn't submit, sitting strong, and his leaning let up, but his lips didn't. He kissed across my throat to the other side of my neck.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?" His kisses were moving up toward my ear and I didn't complete my thought. "It's me, Bella," he said, thinking that was what I needed to hear.

But the truth was, James was a little too embedded in my mind in that moment, and I could feel panic just inches away - it was needles pricking away at my skin. I tried ridding my thoughts of James - clearing my mind. I inhaled Edward's scent.

His fingers were up and down my ribcage and then moved toward my breast as his lips trailed down my chest toward my other breast. "I was just thinking…" Before reaching my breast, his hand switched directions, heading south. "What if I… what if I bring my mouth... down here?" His fingers pressed between my legs. "Do you think that would be okay? Or do you need to see me?"

"Umm," I said, and it wasn't necessary for him to be pushing against my body, because I was lying down on my own.

"Do you want me to try?" His fingers were teasing me, but they didn't enter inside. He wanted permission.

"Yes, you can try… if you want." I tried to mask just how turned on I was, but it didn't work. My barely-there voice betrayed me.

"Oh, I want," he said, his lips making their way down my stomach to join his fingers. "I want to make you feel good again. Let me make you feel good."

With those words, he was James. The bed was gone, hard floor beneath me.

"No! No!" I shoved hands off me as if they were brutal knives in my flesh and I scurried away from James, inching all the way to the headboard. _Headboard_. My eyes were squeezed tight, my knees pulled to my chest, but the bed was beneath me again. I forced my eyes open, trying to concentrate on my real surroundings, and not my old apartment that had sprouted around me, not on James's voice telling me he would make me feel good.

"Bella?" Edward's voice was so quiet and so Edward. My sight cleared, and the room wasn't quite as black. "What did I do?" he asked.

His hand floated toward me, and I put my hand in his before he reached me. I could give him my hand then, but nothing more. Not yet.

"You didn't do anything."

I focused on his eyes, filled with concern and tapered with hurt. Then they turned angry, darkening and narrowing. The anger came fast. But when he spoke, his voice remained gentle. "Did James do that to you? Don't tell me that. He couldn't have. Could he? You've never mentioned anything like that. Did he put his mouth on you?"

I shuddered at the thought. I felt myself gag, and Edward must have seen that so I shook my head fast. He didn't have to think that for a second longer. "No, he didn't do that."

He seemed to breathe easier then, and the look in his eyes softened. "Okay. Okay, so tell me what I did. Did you feel pressured? I felt your resistance to lie down but I thought that if I… But maybe you wanted me to stop, and I kept going. Is that it? You have to tell me what I did so I don't do it again."

"It's nothing you did, Edward." The worry in his eyes had calmed me. I was able to release my knees and move toward him into his arms. They came around me, engulfing me, his kiss on my head and then my face. "You were fine. I wanted you to. It was just what you said. It triggered me. I didn't expect that."

"What did I say? Can you tell me or will it trigger you again?"

"What you said, you should be able to say. My boyfriend, the man I love, should be able to tell me he wants to make me feel good without me freaking out!"

His fingers slid lightly down my face and then over my hair. His face nuzzled my neck. "I'll never say it again."

"Will this ever end? Just when things are getting better they go bad again. Why does that happen? Why can't I get increasingly better all the time?"

"You _are_ getting better, Bella. Last night was such progress, you have to know that. You have setbacks and you discover new triggers, but Rosalie told you they're all part of the process. I shouldn't have initiated what I did. I guess I was hopeful just like you were after being able to have sex. I'll wait for you, Bella, to initiate anything that happens between us."

"No, Edward." My hand came to his chest and I backed away so I could look at him. "I don't want you to stop that. I like feeling wanted by you. I need that. I promise. Please don't stop coming on to me." I laughed a bit at my wording.

Edward smiled. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." I kissed his lips, and his return kiss was cautious. My hand held his face to mine, encouraging his kisses to grow stronger. "Edward, before my flashback, you were really, _really_… making me feel good," I whispered the words he was no longer allowed to say. It seemed unfair that I could say them, and further unfair that, after saying them, there was a stirring low in my stomach upon recalling his fingers and his lips on my body. I could get aroused when I thought of how good he made me feel, but if he said those words, all I'd be likely to see would be James. "And, I'd like you to try again sometime."

"Anytime, Bella. Anytime."

We let ourselves go back to sleep, but not before I put some clothes on. When I awoke again, the sun was bright in the room and Edward was gone. I heard the shower running. Feeling too alone, I left the bed and headed toward the kitchen to make coffee. I thought we could sit outside on the balcony to drink it. We could just relax with the sun and start the day fresh.

The door to his art room was open, and I was drawn inside before getting to the kitchen. But what I saw made me wish I hadn't stepped a foot in there. His painting, the dark one, the prison, was destroyed. It was hanging over the wooden easel, a hole through the center, the points of the easel poking through. On the floor, his palette was upside down, and when I picked it up, fresh paint was stuck to the floor. He'd mixed the colors, and recently. I imagined he'd come in to paint, to gather control of his emotions, but it must have become too much for him to handle. After wiping the paint off the floor with a wet cloth before the paint could settle into the wood, I scanned the room for more damage. There was none that I could see. I felt light headed, absent from my body, and I sat on the bed, covering my face. Edward had been as calm as ever while I had my breakdown earlier. He'd comforted me, said all the right things. But he… he had to breakdown alone, and in secret.

James's face, his grin, as he barbecued at Maria's party, came to mind. Why couldn't he have remained that James? That James would never have hurt me. Why did he have to change?

_Why did James do this to us? _I asked myself. I just had to know why.

I shook my head, returning to my body, and barged through the bathroom door.

"Edward… Edward? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, but I was unconvinced.

I removed my clothes, and pushed at the shower curtain. His back was to me and he turned his head, water drenching him, his eyelids encased in red. I stepped into the shower.

My fingers followed the water down his back, caressing, then I moved my arms around him, my lips breezing between his shoulder blades, before resting my forehead against his spine.

"Are you okay?" I asked again. My hands moved up his stomach, to his chest, just trying to offer him any amount of comfort I could. He took it, holding my arms around him. We stood that way, minutes passing, the water washing over us. He took one of my hands, kissed it, and then turned around, his arms firmly returning my embrace.

"I am now."

"Edward, I…" My mind was swimming. Edward needed something. Something I couldn't give him. "When I told you… No, when I demanded that you not tell anyone, I did that for me. I thought… I didn't know, Edward. Back then, I thought I was the only one affected by what James did to me. But I was so wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong. And asking you to keep it to yourself… I think that was the most selfish thing I've ever done."

He shut off the shower so we could hear each other without raising our voices. He was drenched, but I was only partially wet, some of my hair still dry.

"Maybe you should tell someone. Emmett, maybe? I don't even know him, and he wouldn't tell Alice, would he?"

Edward cupped my face, kissed my forehead, and then looked closely into my eyes. Water drops slipped off his nose.

"Bella, I made a promise to you that day. I told you I wouldn't tell anyone until you were ready, and if you're worried about Emmett telling Alice, then you're not ready. And you'll be meeting Emmett next month when he comes for the art show. I won't have you uncomfortable around him. James took a part of your life away, and I won't do that. I won't take any part of you just because it might help me."

Without taking my arms off him, I turned the water back on, and he had to lean with me so I could reach. If we couldn't cleanse our fucking lives of James, at least we could cleanse our bodies.

Uncaring of whether or not Edward had already washed himself, I soaped up my hands and washed him again. While I lathered him up, I was quiet. There was nothing I could say to make him feel better. If there were honest words that could do that, they were seriously evading me. It seemed my silence spoke to him anyway, and he pulled me under the water with him as he rinsed himself off, finally soaking me completely.

He talked to me as he washed me and then rinsed me. "We're going to be okay, Bella. This is just… we just had a rough morning, but it won't always be like this."

He'd said it before many times, that we'd be okay, and usually I believed him. But just then, believing him was near impossible. How would we be okay when every time I was hurt, he was hurt? And he had to suffer in silence, while I had to avoid addressing the specifics of his breakdowns - like what I'd found in the art room - in an attempt to not exacerbate his pain. We had a love that was so deep, we'd have been fine if all we ever had to do was just hold each other forever. But how would we be okay if we were unable to be honest with each other? If nearly everything we said in hard times was just an attempt to make the other one feel better, but wasn't one-hundred-percent sincere? There was no guarantee in what the future held. All we had to offer each other were embraces and words we _hoped_ to be true. Could that be enough?

We held each other so close and so tight, that not even the drops of water could slip between us, but still James could do it. While we held each other like walls plastered together, James was right there between us. And what could be done to make this better? Our mentalities were being defeated.

"Bella? What are you thinking? Tell me."

I decided to be honest, even if it meant making everything worse. "I'm trying to remember our happiness, Edward. But every happy memory I can think of is followed by disaster. Even the first time we slept together, the things that followed. I mean, do we have anything that's just pure, that's just us and doesn't include James?"

His eyes darkened in frustration again, and this time when he shut the water off, he slammed the knob. He shook his head. "Is that really how you see us, Bella? Or is this just a reaction to all that's happened this morning? Because if this is really how you feel then…"

He stepped out of the shower, took two towels off the hook, handing one to me, and I followed him, dripping into our bedroom. My towel was still in my hands.

Once he had his towel wrapped around his waist, he wrapped my towel around me. He was calm and tender again. He took my shoulders and sat me on the bed, then knelt down, looking up into my eyes.

"I don't know how to explain this to you without causing you more stress. Maybe this is something you have to talk to Rosalie about, but…" He lifted up to kiss me, and the kiss was so soft, it felt like the petals of a flower on my lips, and his second kiss came with just slightly more pressure.

"Did you feel that, Bella?"

I nodded.

"That's fucking pure. There was no James or anyone else in that. The way I see you, and the way I feel about you is pure, do you hear me?"

I swallowed and nodded.

"Because if you don't see that where our feelings come from, and where our smiles and happiness come from have nothing to do with James, then I don't… I don't see how we're going to work. If you look at me and see James, or think of our love and see James, how are _we_ going to work?"

I didn't answer. There was too much fear inside me.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bella. I said that I'd never do that, and I won't. But the only way you'll ever be in a relationship where you don't share… memories of James, is if you're with someone who isn't… who isn't me. And maybe that's what you need to be happy. Is that what you need? Someone else?"

"No," I said, the answer coming fast.

"Are you-are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Edward." I took his hand and brought it to my chest. I knew that he'd be able to feel my heart pounding even through the towel. "What you feel against your hand? That's not fear of anything but losing you. You told me once that you didn't need or want an out, and that it hurt you when I offered you those outs. Well, now I know how you felt. I don't ever want an out, or for you to even offer me one."

"Okay, so what you just said. You don't think that feelings like that are pure?"

"They are. They're pure."

"And was James in your thoughts just then?"

"No."

"Do you see what I'm saying? We're going to have memories of James, but that doesn't make him a part of _us_." He brought his hand from my heart to his and back to mine again.

I fell against him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. "I love you, Edward."

"I love you, too, Bella."

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A/N: Please take a moment to review. Every review is appreciated.


	17. Chapter 17

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted: **www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

**A/N: **This chapter involves discussion of motivations of rape.

I want to thank reviewers and let you know that sometimes it takes me a few days to get back to you because when I'm working on a chapter, it's like a very narrow road in my mind, and I can't look away or backward. That's the only way I can kind of describe why I often wait until I'm finished with the current chapter to get back to some reviews for the previous chapter. But I do my best to respond to all of you because I truly appreciate every single review.

Longer A/N at the end, including some research sources...

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 17

"I'm going to tell you something. Something that makes no sense and makes me hate myself."

Rosalie, sitting beside me in her office, her patient eyes resting on mine, waited in silence for me to continue. And I couldn't speak.

I pulled my journal out of my backpack, turned to the part where I'd written about missing James. The good James. How I had split him into two people in my mind, and in my memories. I handed it to her and pointed at the uneven handwriting messing up the page.

She read, and it was my turn to wait. I dropped my face into my hands - couldn't believe I was sharing this, admitting it. Unable to sit still, I went to the window, watching all those cars. Even though everything was non-stop movement down there - people rushing to get wherever they were going, probably cursing at the traffic, all of it as frenzied and unbalanced as my mind - it was quiet from up here, as calm as Rosalie. Peaceful. I tilted my head to the right, strained to see the trees over Central Park, then scoffed at my efforts.

Rosalie cleared her throat and I turned around.

"Why did you prefer that I read this rather than tell me?"

I wanted to tell her that she was lucky I even let her read it, and that I already regretted it. "Because saying it out loud makes it too real."

"Isn't it real anyway? Does ignoring something we don't like make it go away, or make it not have an effect on us?"

"I guess not."

"Bella, first of all, if you have feelings about anything, whether you think they're warranted or not, they're yours and they deserve respect. Your feelings, all of them, deserve acknowledgement. Without self-hate." She motioned with her hand to come over there, and when I was close enough, she pulled my arms so I was sitting next to her again.

"Second of all, you knew James for years. You trusted him. Now, I'm not excusing what he did when I say this - there is _no_ excuse for what he did - he's a rapist. But he is also human. You recognize that about him. You knew other sides to him."

"I have dreams about him when he was my friend, and then I wake up and it's like he's hurt me all over again. Why did he do this to me? I just don't understand it. How could he do it? Do you know why? Tell me, if you do."

She went over to her desk and shuffled through pages of my file. She found the one she wanted and brought it back with her, returning to her seat.

"You haven't discussed the details of the rape with me yet, so all I have to go on at this point is the police report and what you _have_ revealed about James." Her eyes scanned the paper in her hand, which I assumed to be a copy of my police report. "Do you want to talk to me about the rape?"

"No."

"But you want to explore the answer to your question?"

"I have to know why. I _have_ to. It eats at me when I think of the friend I thought he was."

"I'll discuss this with you, Bella, but rape is a complex issue, and understanding the mind of a rapist is a difficult thing to do, especially when I've never met or spoken with him. I can't give you a definite answer, but I can give you an educated opinion." She moved her chair to face me. "To do this, I'm going to have to talk about your attack, and I may need you to answer some of my questions in order to answer yours to the best of my ability. A lot of what I'll say is not going to be easy for you to hear. Do you think we can do this?"

I nodded.

"Many professionals agree that rape is often based on control, an act of violence rather than sexual gratification. You can see some of this in James through his anger, and how he physically abused you." She paused, taking a moment to examine my face, her eyes falling to my balled fists, my white knuckles. "Bella, are you okay with this? Do you want me to continue?"

"Can't you just tell me the answer without talking about it?"

"I'll try my best, but I told you before, I'm going to have to talk about some details. Okay?" Her hand smoothed my fists until my hands relaxed. "Rape is also known to be a planned, premeditated act, but I don't think this was the case with James. If this was true, it would mean that James may have been calculating in his actions, maybe even luring you in from the beginning with friendship and trust. Pretending to care, biding his time becoming your friend just so he could cause you harm. Now… when James came over, at first he didn't seem like a threat, am I right?"

"He was sad at first. And his mood kept changing. Even after he…" I stole the police report from her lap, skimmed it, and pointed at the description of James throwing me to the floor. "Even after _that_, he seemed… concerned, or apologetic. But that didn't make him stop! I mean, for a second, the way he talked and touched me-" my fingers met my face "-I thought he was going to help me. But he did the opposite. I don't understand that! That _wasn't _James."

"Bella, it _was_ James."

I nodded.

"Now, you said he touched you, and I'm guessing soothingly. Did he kiss you?"

I frowned at her, hesitating. Did she really have to know that, or was she tricking me into talking about this?

"This question is relevant in leading to an answer for you. I didn't lie to you earlier, Bella. I'll only ask you what I need to know to answer your question of _why_."

"Yes," I whispered. "He touched my face gently and he kissed me." I pointed to the side of my neck, the spot Edward's lips always had to avoid. "He thought he would make me feel good."

"How do you know that?"

"He said it."

Rosalie was the one to nod this time. "Do you think he believed it?"

I thought about how many times that day he asked me to kiss him, begged me. But when I saw him in front of me, pleading for a kiss, I had to push him out of my mind. "Yes, I think he believed it. He kept repeating it and even tried to calm me. As if he really thought he could!"

"Bella?" Her voice was soft and low. "Should I continue?"

"Continue."

"I asked you about the kissing and touching because I want to be as certain as possible in my assessment of his motivations before I give you my opinion. The kissing may have been his attempt at foreplay. Even an attempt at coercing you into consent. In fact, Bella… he may have believed that you would consent along the way, even after he forcibly penetrated you. There are some rapists who, through distorted thought, believe that the woman could enjoy it. It's not my opinion that James premeditated his attack. I believe his violation of you was an act of impulse, which is less common but does occur, and usually involving acquaintance rape. In this case, he really believed he was your friend, believed he cared about you and your well-being." She took my hand in both of hers. "James very well may have believed you would enjoy it, and maybe didn't even understand that what he was doing was wrong."

"It _was_ wrong!" I pulled my hand out of hers. My stomach hurt, it cramped up, and I held my arms around my waist.

"I know. Of course it was, but you wanted to know what may have caused his actions."

"He has changed me. Forever! And I _hate_ him."

"I know, Bella. This is not a dilution of the seriousness of rape. Nor is it an excuse for James or any other rapist. We're exploring your question. How he possibly could have hurt you when you and Edward both trusted him."

"So why do I have to remember him? Why do I still have good memories of him when I hate him?"

"Because he was your friend and, like I said, human. It wouldn't be out of the question to suggest that you've been grieving. Grieving for the James that you remember and cared about, because he's gone, and he's never coming back. Denial, anger, depression: these are all part of the grieving process. Being honest with your thoughts will help you come to terms, come into acceptance. And that is okay. Do you think you should hate yourself over a natural, human process?"

I was grieving for the loss of a friend? I felt vomit in my throat. James was not my friend. He never was.

"But you can't keep dividing his good side from his violent side. He is one person, isn't he?" She held up a finger. "For your health, you need to work on viewing him as one person. There's no James that's all good. That James doesn't exist. He's not real. You need to move forward from him, leave him behind. Like I've said before, you need to keep him out of your present so you can move on without him."

Keep him out of my present. I remembered her saying that before and it had resonated with me for a while. Somewhere along the line, though, I'd lost sight of it. I saw now, especially after recalling where my thoughts had headed when I was in the shower with Edward - what I'd said to him, and what he said afterwards in our room - how very important it was to keep James out of my present. I would try, I told her. _I will try again_, I told myself.

"Bella, you're in a delicate state. I want you to make sure you're eating well, get some exercise everyday, and get plenty of rest. You need rest. How are you sleeping at night? Do you get any uninterrupted sleep?"

"Sometimes."

"If it's not enough, let me know and I'll write you up a prescription for sleeping pills."

I told her I still had some.

"We've covered a lot today. I think we should end this session early. You look very… very pale. Would you like to call Edward to come for you?"

I shook my head. "No. No way. God. When I'm hurt like this, it hurts him too. He'll probably be freaking out on the whole ride over here."

"Okay, then I'll ride home with you. I don't think you should be alone."

My ride home in the cab, even with Rosalie there, was far from easy. All the memories of the rape were at the forefront of my mind, and they threatened to come up from my stomach to my throat and out my mouth. They kept gagging me. I was scared all over again. My head was heavy with all the memories I wanted to block, and had been blocking. I couldn't hear when Rosalie talked to me. But I nodded sometimes, pretending I'd heard her.

_Turn on the air conditioner_, I asked the driver, but maybe he didn't hear me, or maybe he didn't speak English, or maybe I hadn't even said it, because it was still hot. He pulled up in front of the apartment building, and Rosalie stopped me from paying.

"I'll pay him. Come on. I'll walk you up."

Outside on the sidewalk, it was cooler, but I didn't allow myself to feel refreshed. I turned around and, right there for anyone to hear, I yelled at Rosalie. She was wide-eyed for a split second, before her face went all calm and patient as usual.

"Rosalie! I'm done! I'm not doing this anymore. I haven't felt like this since the first month. This is supposed to be helping and it's not! You stay right here. I don't need you to walk me up. Edward's up there and he's all I need!"

I started to spin away from her, but she took my hand. "Bella…"

She reached up and smoothed my hair around my ear. It was a gesture I'd never seen her administer on herself, but here she was, doing it to me.

"I know you have a confusion of feelings right now, but soon, your mind will clear. You'll see that not only did you talk about some very important details today, but you survived. You'll see that your therapy really has been working for you, and not solely because of me or Edward. It's because of you. You've put an amazing amount of work into your healing. We'll cancel Thursday's appointment, but I _will_ see you next week."

"You're so sure, aren't you?" I turned to head toward the building, but heard her call after me.

"Yes, I am."

I fumbled for my keys to the main door, and ran all the way up four flights of stairs and into the apartment.

"Edward!" I called, dropping my backpack wherever it landed and heading for the kitchen to splash my face with water. "Edward." I bubbled into the sink. He never came. "Edward?" I called one more time, and checked both bedrooms and the bathroom just in case. He wasn't home, and I was shaking by then. I waited by the front door, pulling out my phone to text him, but I wasn't sure where he was. I didn't want to interrupt a meeting, and if he thought it was an emergency he would break anything to come to me. I thumbed over my phone: _Are you on your way home?_

_I'm a block away_, buzzed his answer, seconds later.

I took several deep breaths as I waited.

As soon as I heard his key touch the lock, I threw the door open and threw myself at him. He was holding flowers and dropped them to the floor to catch me, and I loved how tight his arms held me. "Hey, Bella."

I didn't want to cry all over him. I fought against _that_ as hard as I could, but I needed to be in his arms.

"You dropped your flowers," I said.

"They're yours," he said, kissing my neck.

I let go of him and took a few steps back. His smile fell from his lips when he saw me. "Bella?"

"I'm fine. I just needed you for a minute. It was a rough session today. I'm probably never going back. Thank you for the flowers." I picked them up off the floor: roses, white with red tips. "Fire and ice, just like me." I kissed his still lips and stepped aside so he could come in.

"You're not going back?" His hand flew to his forehead. "But you're still having nightmares. And flashbacks."

"What are the flowers for?"

He followed me into the kitchen, where I opened and closed cupboards in search of a vase.

"They're for you. What are you looking for?"

"Don't you have a vase?"

"No."

I paused, looking at him. "Right. Right. I broke your vase." I found the glass pitcher that used to hold my lemonade, and filled it with water.

"Bella, what do you mean you're not going back?"

I pulled the scissors out and cut the ends of the stems off before sticking the roses in the pitcher, adding a teaspoon of sugar. Edward took my elbow. "Slow down and talk to me. You're acting like someone on crack."

I hugged him again, my arms around his neck, knocking him back a little, and he hugged me too. I stood on my toes, resting my head against his shoulder, my eyes closing.

"I can't stand talking about it. We talked about some of the details today, and now everything, _everything _is back in my mind again. I just want it out! I don't want to think about it or talk about it. I want it out of me."

"Bella, I know. I know. But forgetting about it won't make it go away. You can't forget about it. Your subconscious won't even let you. That's what Rosalie's for, so you can deal with it. Maybe get past it. I'm sorry it was hard for you today, but don't you feel a little better, at all?"

"I don't hate myself for thinking about James anymore."

He pulled my hands from their locked position behind his neck and stepped back so he could get a better look at me. "You hated yourself?"

I closed my eyes and my big mouth tight.

"You can't hate yourself for what James did. You don't deserve that."

"Yeah, that's what Rosalie said. I didn't hate myself for what he did. I hated myself for thinking about the before James, not the after."

"Why?" He pushed my hair back from my face and kept his hands there on my head, keeping my eyes on his.

I averted them anyway, looking at his nose. "It makes me sick."

"Does this have anything to do with the dream you had the other night? The Fourth of July party?"

"Sort of. It has to do with all my good memories of James. I can't stand remembering happy times with James because it just reminds me of what an unbelievably sick bastard he is."

"What did Rosalie say about that?"

"She said I need to stop separating good James from bad James because they're both the same person. Oh, and I'm probably fucking grieving for the asshole. How's that for sanity?"

"And because of that you don't want to go back?"

I sighed. He was going to make me talk about this. I took his hand and led him to the sofa. We sat down facing each other. I was sitting cross-legged, my back against the armrest. I took his hands as I began to explain my session to him, but had to drop them when I told him that I'd asked Rosalie why James raped me and what her answer was. I told him that she'd brought up details that I hadn't thought about in a long time. And that maybe, because it seemed he'd acted on impulse, maybe if the scenario were different it never would have happened.

"Bella, if James hadn't done it that day, he was still capable of it. He could have done it any time. Maybe sometime when I wasn't there to put a stop to it. Why did she tell you that? You had already progressed from that frame of mind. Why would she talk about possible different scenarios!" He started to stand up, angry, but I took his hand.

"She didn't tell me that. I came to that conclusion on my own."

"You know there's nothing you could have or should have done differently. You _know_ that."

I shrugged.

"You have to understand that. Did you say this to Rosalie?"

"Not that part. I only told you that."

He took my hand and brought my fingertips to his lips. "And you said you have memories of James when he was our friend that make you sick?"

"Okay. Sometimes I'll have a memory of something the three of us did together, and I'll find myself wishing that none of this happened, that we were all still friends again. How can I wish that? How can I wish that James was still a part of our lives?"

"Bella." He let his fingers drift over my forearm from my wrist to my elbow. "There's nobody on this earth I'd love to send to hell more than James, but you don't think that I wish the same thing? I wish that James actually had been the person we thought he was."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. I'm glad you told me, Bella. I want you to talk to me, but you can't quit therapy. You've come so far."

"Don't worry about me not going back. My brain is rational again, sort of. Besides, Rosalie won't let me quit. She'd probably come over here, handcuff me and drag me there if it came to that. The last thing she said to me was, 'I _will_ see you next week.' Do you know she rode home with me?"

"I wish I'd been here when you got home," Edward said.

I put my arms around him and leaned forward until he lay back on the sofa. I rested on top of him, my cheek against his chest. "James and the memories were flooding my mind all the way home, and the only thought that kept me from losing it completely was getting back here to you."

He kissed my head and rubbed my back.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you get me flowers?"

"Because I love you."

"There's no other reason?"

"Because I wanted to. And I was thinking of you."

"Was it because we finally had sex the other night?"

"Yes," he said, turning us over so he was hovering over me. "Expect more flowers next time we do it." We both laughed, and my laughter surprised me.

I reached up to touch a fallen piece of hair over his forehead.

"How does anybody go through this without someone like you? What would I do without you?" I sighed.

"What would I do without you, Bella?"

I lifted my head to kiss him.

~::::::~

As September was coming to a close, the air finally breathed Autumn. Some days had Manhattaners shoving arms into light sweaters, and into jackets or coats by night.

I'd called Rosalie that same day to apologize for my explosion and said what I should have said in the first place: "Thank you." She told me that she'd been through worse, that she once had her stapler pitched at her and a chair thrown tumbling across the office. When I asked her how she knew I'd get over my regression, she said she'd never push me past my limit.

"We got close today," she said, "really close. But answering that 'why' question, Bella, that's important in your healing, and it's something most of us hope for. Not many of us get that answer, or even get a reasonable assumption."

Before we hung up, she told me there was one thing I'd said that bothered her, which was that Edward was all I needed. She said that it was good for me to have Edward to depend and rely on, but that I also depended and relied on myself daily, and all I had to do was recognize that. It would help for me to log everything I did for myself in my journal.

I took Rosalie's advice about eating and exercising to heart and asked Jessica to join a gym with me - of course, I insisted on a Women's-only gym, and of course she asked me: "Why? Do I look like I need to work out?"

I waited and walked with strangers through traffic lights on my way to buy vegetables at the market. I faced fellow customers, and as long as I didn't see a sign of blond hair, I'd allow myself to make eye contact. The last thing I wanted, though, was to have another flashback, another setback to turn me inside out and toss me upside down for the hundredth time. I wanted to keep moving forward as long as it was possible. And all of this found its way into my journal.

Within a few days, maybe a week, I could feel my psyche improving and my concentration getting better. I was back to reading each page of Chaucer one time without my mind drifting and having to re-read.

Angela and I were getting closer at school. She asked me how I dealt with writer's block, and I shared with her what Rosalie had told me: _it all starts with one good word_. I worked up to getting to know Ben, too. I watched them together, his arm around her, his fingertips brushing away at the corners of her hair. He seemed devoted to her, and it was nice to see a little of what Edward and I shared in someone else.

Professor Azams asked to see me after class. She waited until the last of her _dears_ were out the door before she walked over to sit next to me, my most recent story in her hand. I'd scrawled the beginnings of that particular story at work in the coffee shack, with coffee stains on my fingers.

The chair groaned against the floor when she pulled it out, and she removed her glasses.

"This is a warning to you," she said. "I'm going to be very hard on your writing. Tell me why."

"You don't think I'm working to my potential?"

She shook her head. "On the contrary. You're one of the few students who take what I advise and apply it to your writing. I see the difference with each revision you hand in. And since I can see what you can do, my expectations of your work have risen." She gave a small smile and a nod. This close to her, I saw that dark freckles spotted her forehead.

"You understand, the goal of the Master's program is for each student to have a completed novel or a book of short stories by the end. If you continue to broaden your writing, you may have a chance at getting published. But there's one thing I see lacking in your writing, and it will do nothing but hold you back."

"What is it?"

"Honesty. You're guarded. You need to let your guard down, and be honest, exude your _self_ onto the page. Feel it from your heart and let it flow from your fingers. Stop writing what you think others want to read and start writing what you're compelled to write. The next story I see, I want it to be raw. Not just pretty, but raw, and true to the souls of your characters."

I nodded, even though I had no real grasp on what she meant.

"Your stories? Your classmates love them because you have a way with description and dialogue that engages them. They like the unfolding of the plot and the hopeful endings. But where is the honesty? Your readers will love you for your happy endings, sure, but what they'll love you for more are real endings and those sentences that speak to them. Those sentences they can step away from and say: 'Yes! I've felt that before. And I'm glad I'm not the only one.' Those sentences that remain and resonate inside them - make them take pause and _think_. There are secrets inside of us that many don't want to reveal, but the author who reveals them makes our strangest or darkest emotions feel… well, normal."

That conversation which had everything to do with my present and future, but nothing to do with my trauma, was testament to me that there actually was a whole lot more going on than what James had put me through. Despite my fears and the attack that harbored them, kept them centered within me, there were goals, and achievements, and even my own life mistakes to look forward to, unraveling around me like ribbons of color. I could choose a color, follow it as far as I saw fit, change course, follow another ribbon, stay with it or continue changing, and each course would guide me to a unique destination, none of them leading to James. There were a million possibilities, all separate from James.

In bed that night, I told Edward the news: if I stopped lying in my writing I might have the chance of getting published someday. His initial reaction was a lot like mine had been - complete confusion. Because, after all, wasn't fiction a lie to begin with?

"So, all I have to do is stop lying." I smiled as if that was the simplest thing ever to do, and why hadn't I thought of it before?

Edward smiled back and kissed me.

As our kisses steadily grew longer and deeper, I found myself moving on top of him, Edward pulling me along. His touch drifted up my waist to my ribcage and I felt the heels of his hands on the sides of my breasts. I shifted my body until I felt his palm against my breast, and a smile met his lips as he kissed me. I sat up on my knees, Edward between my legs, and I peered down at him.

When I started to lift off my shirt, his hand stopped me.

"We don't have to do anything," he said.

"I want to." I wanted him because I loved him and felt close to him and safe, but I also wanted him so I could prove to myself that I was as strong as I felt. James was not in my present and I could do this. "Do you?"

He nodded, but as I began to lift my shirt, he stopped me again. "You don't have to coax me into it this time, Bella." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Let me do that."

He removed my shirt and then his warm hands met my breasts, and as I closed my eyes, something was different. I was able to close my eyes and not feel vulnerable. My eyes opened again and found Edward's.

"What is it?" He moved his hands.

"No, it's weird, I… I think I'm okay."

His fingers slipped up and down my sides. "You _think_ you're okay?"

"Yeah… My mind just went blank and it stayed that way." I hoped he understood what I was trying to get across because no way was I going to bring James into the conversation - even the absence of him.

This time Edward's smile spread all the way across his lips. "That's good. Let's try again, then." He pulled me to his lips, kissed me, then slid his lips to my neck, down my chest, lifting me so he could reach my breasts. And my eyes were closed the whole time, and all there was, was Edward.

I rushed to get my sweats off and Edward's because I wanted to get through this before whatever was happening with me, this power, went away. On top of Edward, I made love to him, and he didn't ask me if I was okay once, and I didn't have to remind myself that he wasn't James. I didn't have any flashbacks and I finally figured out why. I was on top and in control of everything.

Edward let me set the pace and he met my movements. And this time, when I felt the waves of my orgasm, they continued. There was no pause or freeze or ease off. My orgasm came with determination and strength. It felt better than anything I'd ever felt, and I let it fill me, take over.

In the end, it didn't leave quietly either; it left in tremors that continued to travel through me as Edward's fingers drifted up and down my back. With each caress up my back, a quiver ran through me. They weren't quitting and it made me laugh.

"Can we keep going?" Edward breathed into my ear, because he'd waited for me, probably on purpose. I moved for him again and his hands held my hips as he pushed into me, letting himself go inside of me.

And then he held me so tight, his face buried in my shoulder. "Oh god, Bella… thank you."

I lifted up, and kissed his cheek. "For what?"

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. "Nothing. I hadn't meant to say that out loud."

"But you did say it, so tell me what you meant."

"Just because… it worked for you that time."

"Yeah, it did." I smiled.

"You were so beautiful. I've never seen anything more beautiful."

"You watched me?"

"I couldn't look away."

I rested my chin against my hands, one on top of the other on Edward's chest. I felt drunk. He smiled, pushing my hair back over my head.

"It worked out better because you were on top?"

I nodded.

"Then we should do it like that every time. I liked it. It was hot."

I laughed.

He laughed too, but said he was serious, that it really was hot.

Moving slightly off of him, but keeping one arm tight around his waist, I lay facing him, my head on his shoulder. "Let's keep this feeling forever. We'll wrap ourselves in it like a blanket."

He kissed the top of my head. "Bella, remember when we weren't sure where we'd end up? Back when we thought we might be nothing more than friends because we couldn't be close like this? Think of that, and think of where we are right now."

This was normal for most couples - just another night - but for us it was wonderful. It was victory for us, and I let that victory carry me to sleep.

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**A/N**: I'd appreciate your review.

**Some of my thoughts on writing this story, and some facts I've found, if you're interested:**

As I've stated before, this isn't an easy story to write, emotionally, but there are some scenes or moments that are much harder than others. It may be surprising to you (maybe not) that some of the hardest scenes to write have been the ones where James is a friend. I had to show why James would be considered a trusted friend by both Edward and Bella, and every scene where James is nice/kind/likable, has made my stomach hurt. To have to write kindness in a villain is one of the most difficult things I've ever done as a writer. And that isn't even remotely comparable to what a person in Bella's position goes through.

Another of the most difficult scenes for me to write was in this chapter, when Rosalie assesses James and his reasons or motives for the rape. Having to face that some rapists don't understand the crime in their attack or that they actually think the woman will enjoy it is sickening.

(I'm realizing that may seem very negative, but please don't get me wrong, I do love writing this story and these characters hold a very special place in my heart. It makes me sad to think of letting them go eventually.)

**Rosalie's assessment of James is based on my compiling of research on rape, particularly acquaintance rape, and the arguments I've found between rape as an act of violence, and rape as a sexual act.

I have done research upon research for this story, and here are just a few of my sources: UCSB Psyche, Florida Council against Sexual Violence, Psych Central, Psychology Today, UofA Sexual assault center, and I've also taken into consideration personal accounts of rape.

I've found that only 1-2% of acquaintance rapes go reported by women, and that concern for the rapist is often a factor in this. It's unfortunate but true that sometimes women won't report it because not only are they questioning their own fault in the violation, but they also worry about getting their friend, boyfriend, relative, in trouble.

**Having shared this, I have to thank you for reading and sticking with me through this story. I know that much of the time it can't be any easier to read than it is to write this story. One of my intentions regarding this story is that through Bella's healing, I can perhaps bring hope to at least a few readers. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

If any of you have read _The Path We Chose_ and its sequel, _Not Without You_, I've added a future-take to Not Without You. It was written for The Fandom Gives Back auction.

You can now follow me on twitter: believeitornott (two t's at the end)

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The Other Side of Me

Chapter 18

I wasn't surprised when I heard the knock at the door. Jessica and I had just finished lunch together after returning from our workout, and she'd been gone less than a minute when I noticed her gym bag slumped on the floor at my feet. She must have barely made it halfway down the stairs when she realized it was missing, and returned for it.

I pulled the door open and froze, instantly feeling the nakedness of my legs and arms. Every inch of exposed skin burned, as I stood there in my tank top, gym shorts, and bare feet, the sight of Mr. Garrett looming over me. I wanted to cover myself, throw on a sweatshirt and jeans - shoes alone would have helped. I hadn't buzzed him in, so I assumed he'd entered the building as Jessica was leaving. I imagined her holding the door open for him, unaware of what she was letting in.

Only ten days ago, I'd sat in Rosalie's office resolving to block James from my present, and here he was, James's father, shoving him right back into my face.

"Hello, Isabella. Do you remember me?" His skin was tanned, with a few faint age-spots speckling his forehead.

I nodded. "We met during your Christmas visit a few years back." My skin was heating up from the inside, starting deep in my chest and spreading to my sweaty palms.

"That's right. May I come in?"

"No." My gaze fell to the door handle. I wiggled it, wanting to close it. "Why are you here? Do you know where James is?" My eyes closed for a second. I felt woozy and then frustrated for feeling woozy. I leaned against the door to keep myself from falling over.

"No idea where he is. I haven't seen him. You sure do have him running, don't you?" His hair was gray but he had the same blue eyes as James. They were looking at me. "Why do this to him? You were good friends. I saw the way you two interacted. I don't understand this. The two of you laughed to the point of irritation. You put your hand on his arm. You showed not an ounce of discomfort around him. Why rape? Why claim that?"

My anger brought back my strength as if I was electrified. I stood up straight, adrenaline sprinting through my veins; I could almost hear it. I felt the hairs practically lifting off my head. Chills trampled up the backs of my shoulders.

"It's not a claim." I began to close the door. He blocked it.

"It's true?"

I nodded, refusing to look at him.

"It's a mistake. It must be a mistake."

"How did you get my address, Mr. Garrett?"

"I was told you were living with Edward Masen."

"Did James tell you that?"

"Don't play games with me, Miss Swan. You heard me say I haven't seen him."

I didn't take the time to explain that seeing someone and talking to someone were completely separate things, or that I wouldn't have believed a word he said if God Himself told me it was Truth and Gospel. "All right, well, goodbye."

He blocked the door a second time. "Why don't you drop the charges? Set him free." His tired eyes were watering and his voice cracked in desperation. I glared at him.

_Set James free? When he had me trapped inside myself?_

"If you don't let me close the door, I'll call the police." I tried to sound as threatening as a five-foot-four, twenty-three-year-old could sound, but my voice betrayed my façade with a shake. I sounded like a child. He let me close it. I locked it and called the police anyway. Although, I really didn't believe it would do any good. They didn't even have a lead on James as far as I knew. For all I knew, they weren't even looking for him anymore. I kept my eyes on the door as I spoke over the phone. I had double locked it, but I still wasn't convinced that Mr. Garrett wouldn't barge right through.

Neither of _my_ two policeman were available, so I had to talk to a stranger. He recorded my information then told me to call again if Mr. Garrett returned. _Sure, I'll just hold the phone, wait for his return, you ass_. I sat in the living room, in the corner of the sofa, cross-legged and facing the door. I took my journal from the side table and wrote as I waited for Edward to get home from his meeting so I could finally forget about that front door.

I wrote about Mr. Garrett and everything he said. I remembered the night I joined James and his father for dinner. We went to an upscale restaurant that served French food I couldn't pronounce. I had pointed to my menu when I ordered, embarrassed to mispronounce the words in front of Mr. Garrett. Our table was a square, Mr. Garrett across from me, and James to my left. I knew why we were laughing that night, and why it had annoyed Mr. Garrett. Every time his father spoke, James would stare straight ahead, mouthing the words, mimicking him, and he'd freeze when his father looked his way. I couldn't help but laugh, and even when I refused to look at James and tried to focus my attention solely on Mr. Garrett, I could see James out of the corner of my eye, and Mr. Garrett had to have noticed as well. Nervously, I drank my wine down. That did nothing to curb the laughter, which had turned into fits of giggles. Apparently giggle fits were even more irritating than laughter to Mr. Garrett.

I did touch his arm. I mouthed _stop_ to James, and then we both burst out laughing all over again. I wasn't even thinking about my hand. It was still on his arm when we finally calmed down.

I shuddered at the memory. I swallowed every other memory I had of absently touching James. And I gagged on them. Vomit pushed its way up my throat like an erupting volcano after a prolonged dormancy. I'd had this feeling many times over the past four months, but this time, my defenses broke. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I vomited up memory after memory of my touch on James and then his touch on me. Every touch that seemed innocent, every uninvited pinch, every hug returned by me, or kiss on his cheek.

When Edward got home, I wasn't staring at the door anymore. I was lying in bed, ashen and in a cold sweat. I had brushed my teeth, drank some water, but I still didn't feel any better. I heard Edward call my name, and his voice sounded tunnels away. I couldn't answer. He wouldn't have heard me anyway because I lacked the energy to project my voice.

"What's wrong?" he asked, entering the room. I saw the crease in his brow, the worry in his eyes, and I wanted to tell him, _Nothing, I'm fine. _Instead, I handed him my journal. I had been holding it against me, almost cuddling with it. I did not feel like explaining what had happened, so I let him read it.

"He was here? What did he want? You okay?"

I pointed to the journal still in his hand.

He pushed the hair back on my forehead. "You're sweating."

"I'm sick." My voice was hoarse.

"Do you need a doctor?"

I shook my head. I didn't need the kind of doctor he was suggesting. He kicked off his shoes and lay down next to me on his back, continuing to read my entry.

Just yesterday my writing had been different, so much more positive. Yesterday I had written about Edward.

"Any plans tonight?" Edward had asked.

"Just my weekly write up on Chaucer," I'd answered. "You?"

"The usual, painting pictures for children."

I'd asked him if I could watch.

"Can I look over your shoulder as you write?" he'd asked, then motioned for me to follow him to the art room because he really didn't care if I watched or not. I rested across the bed on my stomach, my legs in the air, my chin in my hands, watching him kneeling on the floor, painting. Nothing else had been on my mind then… just his brushstrokes or the thoughtful way he chose a brush, rinsed it, chose another, blended, stroked, rinsed - every movement deliberate.

He looked up at me, caught my gaze, and somehow we ended up making out on the bed, which turned into making love. We'd made love the last three nights in a row, and it remained easier when I was on top, me reaching orgasm every time. I still couldn't get there, though, when Edward was on top. I was insistent that we keep trying, determined not to give up. I would beat this thing if it took my whole life.

"Do you see him, Bella?" Edward asked when he finished and I didn't. For someone who had just climaxed he seemed more frustrated than satisfied.

"No."

"Then why isn't it working for you? If there aren't any flashbacks, and no visions of James… Am I too rough?"

He was on his back, and I lifted up, resting on my forearm, bringing my hand to his stomach. I shook my head and almost laughed because of how far from rough he was. "I have to concentrate too hard on not seeing James, but it'll work eventually. It's really close sometimes, like, _really_ close."

"What do you think about? In order to keep him out of your mind?"

"You." I smiled. "And the bed, and even the temperature in the room. Anything that's different at all from my apartment and James."

"And this time… you were close. I could feel you; I thought that… you were there." He lifted up on his side too, facing me.

I nodded.

"If I had lasted longer, would you have-"

I shook my head. "It's not the length of time. It's where my mind is. I can't let go."

He pulled me close against him. "Maybe we can try something next time. Tell me when you're close, and I'll talk to you so you can hear my voice, and maybe you won't have to concentrate so hard, you know?"

"That might work," I said, and he was kissing my chest, nudging me to my back, his lips moving down to my stomach.

"I'm sorry I don't satisfy you," he said, kissing lower still. I recognized the joking tone in his voice.

I took a deep breath. "You should… try harder," I managed to squeak out.

His hands pushed my legs forward, bending my knees, and he nestled his face between my legs. I felt his tongue and then his lips moving against me. "Like this?" he asked. I couldn't form a coherent answer, and my silence startled him. He lifted his face. "Bella?"

I brought my fingers to his hair and guided him back. His tongue was on me again, and my stomach leapt. "Just like that… Ed-ward."

As he felt my build up, heard my breathing turn to sporadic moans, his fingers replaced his lips for a moment. "Look at me," he said, "for as long as you can. This is going to work."

I did what he asked, and his mouth was back. I was unable to look for long, my head falling back as I surrendered myself to Edward.

That was yesterday. Today I was in our bed, sick and scared and weak. I despised that my mood could be so affected by people. Edward finished reading and cuddled me in his arms, my back against his stomach, his face in my hair.

"I can't believe he asked you to drop the charges. Oh, man, if I had been here…"

"Shh."

"I wish I never had to leave your side. If anything happened-"

"Edward, I have to learn to cope on my own, without you. Rosalie thinks I rely on you too much. Or that I think I rely on you too much. Or something like that."

"Rely on me," he said. "If it helps you, rely on me."

"Rosalie says I need to rely on myself more. We obviously can't be connected at the hip. I have to be able to deal with assholes and regular people without vomiting out my insides. For my own sanity."

"You vomited?" He held me tighter; he kissed my hair. I didn't answer. There was no need. "Fuck. Bella, why can't I just whisk you away from all this bullshit?" He nudged my hair aside with his nose, kissed behind my ear, then the curve of my neck.

"You can't. I have to face it."

"Not alone. If I could staple myself to you, I would."

I turned around to face him, smile at him, and kiss him. I wrapped both my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer. He sandwiched one of my legs in between both of his.

"In a perfect world we'd be stapled together just like this," I said. We both laughed at the image of ourselves stapled together. And then I wasn't sure if maybe I was wrong about relying on Edward too much. Because Edward did help me. Not just by holding me and making me feel safe, but by easily making me laugh when a moment ago I didn't even remember how.

~::::::~

I hadn't known at the time how selfish it was to ask Edward to come with me to see Rosalie, but it was.

"It's time for me to talk about what happened," I told him over cereal. I knew it was inevitable, that I'd have to talk about the actual rape eventually, face it. I would never be ready, that I was sure of, but it had to happen. Mr. Garrett, the effect he had on me, the vomiting, the fear he invoked in me, was all part of my decision. If facing the rape again, talking about it, getting it all out there could help me move forward, I would try it.

I waited until the following morning to bring it up. For some reason, having the discussion over breakfast seemed like it would lighten the weight of the situation, make it less dismal and more a natural part of the day. Instead it did the opposite. It ended breakfast. Neither one of us could eat anymore after I brought it up.

Edward did kiss my cheek, though, and told me he was proud of me, as he agreed to come without hesitation. It didn't occur to me to think about how Edward would respond to rehashing the experience. He'd experienced his moments of weakness, but for the most part, he'd held strong through everything. He'd been there when it happened, saw me, stopped James, and he'd heard it all before. The difference was, he had heard the story in broken pieces, out of order. He had never heard what happened in succession from beginning to end.

Outside her door, before we entered Rosalie's office, Edward stopped me. His hands came to my face and he gave my upper lip a soft, slow kiss, and my lower lip a kiss that matched.

"Whatever happens in there today, Bella, I'm here for you. You can stop and we can leave anytime you want. Just say the word. Or, forget that, don't say anything, just take my hand and I'll follow you. Whatever you need."

I took a deep breath and nodded. I began to open the door, but turned abruptly. "Oh, thank you." I stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He gave a nod and we entered.

Rosalie was behind her desk again, like my first visit. She stood when we entered, shook Edward's hand, and it was all too formal.

"Georges Seurat?" Edward asked, and I saw that he was looking at the framed art on the wall to our left. I'd never taken the time to walk over and look at it, but within ten seconds, he'd not only noticed it but recognized the artist.

"You know him?" Rosalie asked.

"He used the pointillism technique, painting in tiny dots. Imagine the patience that takes, the steady hand, the focus. Minuscule dots in the right shade of color to make a painting like that." He shook his head, seeming amazed by it, and I could see why. From where we stood, I saw groups of people gathering on the grassy edge of a lake in soft casts of color, even the distinction of brightness and darkness between shade and sun. The dots couldn't be distinguished from here.

Edward faced me, his expression changing, almost as if he'd just climbed out of the peaceful painting and into the somber office.

He took my hand and we sat in the chairs facing Rosalie, keeping our fingers linked between us.

"Bella," Rosalie said, "do you want to just…" She raised her eyebrows.

I began. Waiting would only make it harder. I started at the moment I had answered my door. I told them about the way James had seemed shocked and sad and hurt, and I paused when I saw James in front of me, that hurt expression in his eyes. Edward's hand came to my back. "He'd been crying," I said. "I felt _sorry_ for him."

I told them, with held-back tears, how I'd felt guilty for rejecting James and hurting him. And then his moods had started changing rapidly. He went from hurt to angry to hopeful to hurt again. Begging for kisses, forcing them on me. And then he was somebody else, somebody I didn't recognize. Somebody who was capable of throwing me against a wall, holding me at my wrists, covering my mouth so he couldn't hear my protests and my screams, and taking a part of me I could never get back.

"And there was a point when…" I paused, tears shedding from my eyes. I felt Edward lean forward in his chair beside me, his hand sliding up my back to my shoulder.

"When what?" Rosalie asked.

"I-I gave up," I said, letting my sobs take over. "I knew it was going to h-happen and I l-let it. I stopped fighting! He was so heavy, but I could've kept squirming. I could have tried kicking, but I didn't. I just lay there. I went l-limp. Why did I stop fighting?"

Edward's arms were fast around me, his kiss landing on my head. "Bella, no, you didn't _let_ it happen, baby. No."

"Edward's right. You didn't allow it happen." Rosalie moved out from behind her desk and knelt in front of me, waiting for my sobs to subside. "You made it more than clear that you didn't want it to happen. What you're saying you did, knowing it was going to happen and succumbing to it in a way, well, you're not the only one who does that, who did that."

I looked down at her and wiped my eyes.

"Sometimes the woman succumbs to it earlier than you did, and it often becomes even more difficult to help her understand why the act is no fault of her own. That doesn't mean that the woman 'let' it happen. It's shock, it's feeling powerless, it can be an absence of yourself - leaving your body as a defense mechanism, blacking out. It could be any of those things."

Edward's hand was on one side of my face, holding me to his lips, leaving slow kisses up and down my cheekbone. Then he took my hand and held it in both of his, his forehead resting against my temple.

Rosalie returned to her desk. "Tell me, Bella," Rosalie said. "If this was a friend of yours we're talking about, and she confided in you everything you've told me, would you tell her she let it happen? Would you tell her there was something she should have done differently?"

"I would wish she'd done something differently, the same way I wish I would have."

"Is wishing she would have done something differently, in hindsight, knowing the outcome, the same thing as saying she _should_ have done something differently, when unknowing of the outcome?"

"No, it isn't," I said, giving her the answer she already knew. Understanding that I was giving the answer for myself.

"Do you still think you _let _it happen?"

"I'll try not to think that way," I said.

"I know it isn't an easy thing to do, Bella. You have to apply the same logic and understanding to yourself as you would a friend. As you would to me."

I saw Rosalie glance at Edward. She must have been wondering if I'd told him about what had happened to her. I hadn't. It wasn't my place. He may have understood now, though.

"Okay, let's go on, Bella. What occurred next? What else should I, or perhaps a judge, know about James?"

"He kept telling me I wanted it," I said. "One hand over my mouth, and one holding my wrists down tight to the floor, and he told me I would like it. He would make me feel good - better than Edward - because that is what he _does_."

My hand fell, dropped out of Edward's grasp. He shot up, turned his back on us, walked toward the wall and put a hand against it, holding himself up. His other hand came to his bowed forehead. I sat up straight. This had become too much for him.

"You found them, Edward?" Rosalie asked another question she knew the answer to.

He was silent at first, his head still bowed. I thought for a moment that I'd stop everything. Pick this up another time, maybe without Edward here. But then he spoke.

"I was outside, about to knock, only the door was already open. Just barely open. I knew something was up because Bella always kept her door double-locked. I didn't hear anything, though. Not a sound," he said, still facing the floor. His eyes closed and he paused. "I saw him on top of her. Bella," he whispered my name as he shook his head. "I knew what he was doing. His hand was over her mouth, her eyes were closed… so tight."

Edward's voice wavered and I stood up. "His pants looked like they were still up, you know? Not pulled down, not yet. I thought maybe… _maybe_ he hadn't had time!" Edward's fist slammed into the wall. His hand went right through it, sheetrock swallowing his wrist. The painting beside him rattled. I went over to him and put my hand on his arm. His muscles were flexed, his t-shirt tightening against his biceps.

"Edward…"

He turned around, looked at me for a second, appearing disoriented, and then shifted his gaze to Rosalie, who was now standing behind her desk across the room. His eyes were wet, but the tears remained there. They didn't spill.

"I've never wanted to kill anyone like I wanted to kill James. He was there. In my hands." He lifted his hands as if to show us where James was. There were cuts on the knuckles of his right hand. "I let him go."

"Why did you let him go?" Rosalie asked. "What stopped you?"

"Bella." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. His eyes found mine, the tears leaked out. I reached up with both my hands and pushed the tears aside with my thumbs, but more came. He held one of my hands there on his face and closed his eyes. "You-you needed me. One look at you, curled up on the floor, and I let go of James. I didn't even watch him run, only heard the door slam behind him. I was _praying _I wasn't too late." He turned his face, kissed my wrist, took my other hand and kissed that wrist, too. "That I had stopped him before he… before he… he… but of course I was too late." He opened his eyes and brought our hands down between our bodies, both of mine cupped in both of his.

"Maybe I was just a few seconds too late. Maybe _twenty_ _seconds_ too late. I kept thinking, if I hadn't gone back into my apartment for a water because it was so goddamned hot out; if I hadn't given up that first taxi and waited for the next just because some woman was there; if the driver hadn't hit _every single_ light along the way. If just one of those things had been different, then… then…"

"But it wasn't different," Rosalie said, completing Edward's thought, urging him to go on.

He looked to Rosalie. "No, it wasn't. Bella. My Bella, on the floor. God… so hurt. So fucking hurt!" He sobbed. His chest heaved with a deep, uneven breath. "I called your name. You didn't hear me or see me, closed off from the world. I didn't know if I should touch you, afraid to scare you. But I had to!" His voice was getting gradually louder, his words shorter. "Your panties, around your ankles - I couldn't have that!" He released my hands and punched the wall again, made a new hole. I jumped back. His hand met his forehead, fingers in his hair, bloody knuckles. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll pay to fix your wall."

"No," Rosalie said. "That's what insurance is for."

Edward's shoulders were shaking. I reached up to touch them.

"Bella." His arms enclosed around me and mine wound around his waist. I clasped my hands in back of him, locking him to me. He nearly collapsed on me. I was practically holding him up. He kissed my shoulder, his hand stroking my hair. "Just hours before that you told me you were mine. Remember?" He sniffled, and I felt him reach up to wipe his eyes, still hugging me tight, his weight on me.

I nodded. "I am yours."

"I knew I was in love with you then, Bella. That feeling in my chest when you told me you were mine, I recognized it - knew what it was. I planned on telling you but I never got the chance. I'm sorry, baby, so sorry. I'd do anything to do that day over and get there earlier, or never leave you at all. Any-_fucking_-thing. You don't know how many times I've dreamt of getting to you in time. Those dreams… I never wanted to wake up!"

"Edward…"

"I know, Bella. I know."

I was unsure what he'd meant by that last statement, but I let it go.

He stood up straight, looking down at me, his hands on the sides of my arms, rubbing. "While I held you in my lap on your floor, I kept thinking, 'Not her.' Not you. Someone so good, so kind, so carefree. I always admired you, even as your friend, but we'd come to mean so much more to each other, and I wasn't there. I couldn't protect you." Tears fell again.

"You stopped him, Edward. If it hadn't been for you it would have been much worse."

"How can a person do that to someone? Force their clothes off… force them… force _you_. And James did it. James! And you, Bella, you keep finding ways to blame yourself, and it's not your fault. It's his fault. God, I wish I'd killed him. I look for the bastard everywhere I go. A part of me knows he won't come back to New York, not voluntarily. But a part of me hopes to see him. I'd rip him apart. I'd kill him." He spoke through his teeth, his voice quiet, but there was an edge to it, a finality in his words. He meant them.

I shook my head against his chest. "No, Edward."

"Bella, did you know Edward felt this way?" Rosalie asked.

"No, I didn't. He hides it well." I looked up at him; he was looking at me. "I shouldn't have asked you to come today. I wouldn't have if I'd known you felt like this. All this time?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry I kept it from you. I didn't want to hurt you anymore. You're doing so much better."

"I told you I didn't want you to only focus on my needs, Edward. We can't be happy if one of us is in this much pain, and hiding it."

"Please," Rosalie said. "Come and sit down."

We did. Arms around each other, we walked back to our chairs and sat down. I pulled some tissues out of the box, handing Edward one for his face and dabbed at his knuckles with the other one. He winced and pulled away. I caught his hand, brought his knuckles to my lips and kissed them, tasted his blood. He was bleeding for me, and had been for months, so I kissed each hurt knuckle.

"Do you think it's broken?" Rosalie asked.

"No," Edward said, "just cut up. Not like your wall." He clasped my hand, and we were sitting just like before, like the beginning of our session.

"Bella, despite what you think, it's good that you brought Edward. Edward, you have a lot of anger, a lot of trauma that you've ignored. I advise you to continue therapy. I can recommend someone for you, if you'd like. The feelings of wanting to murder James, that's common, that happens, but they cannot be ignored. Tell me, do you think any good would come of your killing James?"

He looked at her, shook his head.

"And if you saw him, today?"

"I'd kill him." I felt his hold on my hand tighten. I squeezed back until he was aware of it and loosened up. "Ever since James hurt Bella, I know that I'm capable of murder; I can feel it in me, and it's not easy to admit, not to myself or anyone else." He looked at me. "I'm sorry, Bella."

I shook my head. "No, Edward. You've been hurt by James, and it's time you let yourself heal."

"Edward," Rosalie said, and paused. "You seem to have a very vivid memory of that day. It must be on your mind a lot."

He looked at me and didn't answer Rosalie.

"Do you have flashbacks, as well?" she asked him, and his eyes left mine; they turned to her. I knew the answer before he said it, saw it in his face, and my mouth dropped open.

"Yes." It was a one word answer, and it still shook. It was such a powerful answer and it quaked, as if tectonic plates had shifted in his chest.

I reached over to rub up and down his arm.

"What about nightmares?" she asked.

"Those too. And that was the hardest in the beginning. I'd wake up…" he turned to me "...see you there in my bed, after just living through it again, and all I wanted to do was hold you in my arms, shield you from everything, but I couldn't." My hand paused its movement over his arm. "You didn't want me touching you, and keeping my hands off you, keeping myself from just taking you into my arms, holding your beautiful head against my chest, was one of the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It took all my strength not to touch you. Sometimes, if you were sleeping, I'd touch your hair, so you wouldn't feel it. I'd take the ends and just hold on because I had to. I needed to feel any part of you, Bella. And I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"You told me not to touch you. I promised I wouldn't." Tears streamed from his eyes again. "I didn't keep that promise."

All this guilt over touching my hair? Because I'd asked him not to touch me.

"That first night you were able to sleep in my arms and wake up feeling safe. I don't even have words to describe what I felt." He brought his fingers to my face. "And in minutes, you were gone again."

That morning I'd fled from him. I went over to my photo box, and then he'd pleaded with me to let him hold me. And this, what he was telling us now, was what he'd been feeling. He'd finally had the chance to hold me, and before he knew it, I was gone. He'd said he needed to know I was still there with him. And then, I'd pulled away from him because I couldn't take it - being confined in his arms.

I went to his lap now and hugged him as tight as I could. His arms came around me too. "Edward," I kissed his face. "That's over. You can hold me whenever you want. Whenever you want, Edward. And as tight as you want. Hold me, Edward," I whispered.

I felt his arms squeeze me, his face buried in my neck, a deep breath fleeing from him. His squeeze was so tight I could barely breath, and I welcomed it.

"I'm sorry," he said. I wanted to tell him to stop apologizing, but he was crying. I'd never seen him cry this openly before. He usually held back or tried to block it. Today he was letting go. Letting it out… finally.

"Edward," Rosalie said, and we both looked over at her. I remained on Edward's lap. I didn't care that we were in a therapist's office; I wasn't going to move off his lap until he was ready for me to. "There's more than just pain you need to address. And you should know that there are doctor-patient privilege laws and confidentiality ethics, in case certain violent thoughts or feelings are what happen to be keeping you away." She raised her eyebrows as if she knew everything about him, and I would have believed she did.

"The wall?" She motioned to the two holes in it. "That's anger, Edward. You have to think of Bella."

"I'd never hurt Bella." His hold around me tightened and he kissed my head.

"No, I'm not saying you would physically hurt her, but actions like that are bound to frighten her, don't you think? Do you understand that you need help? For your sake and for Bella's sake?"

I knew what Rosalie had thought when I told her I sought therapy for Edward's sake, that I wanted to get better for him. She had said I needed to do it for me. But she also said it didn't matter what reason drove me to get help, what mattered was that I'd made the decision. She knew that mentioning me - Edward getting help for my sake - would give him the push he needed.

He looked at me and kissed the bridge of my nose. "I understand," he said, not taking his eyes off me, not removing his lips from my face. "Please refer someone."

~::::::~

In the cab home we sat separately. We weren't touching. I was looking out my window and Edward was looking out his. We were both drained emotionally and physically. I don't know what Edward was thinking, but I was remembering our session with Rosalie. I was thinking of Edward hurting all this time, ignoring his own pain everyday, all too focused on 'fixing' me. His anger had surfaced from time to time when he couldn't stop it, he'd had some emotional breakdowns, but I wasn't aware it was so constant. I remembered all the times I'd caught glimpses of his anger. The first day, in my old apartment, talking to the cops. One of them asked me if I was in pain. I saw a flash of anger on Edward's face, but he had softened when I looked at him, on purpose. Even back then he was hiding it from me. And then, all the times we talked about it, when his fists tightened, or his jaw clenched, or his lips formed an angry line. That time with Tyler when Edward lost control. He even told me he had wanted to kill Tyler. How had I not recognized it as a bigger problem? I'd let Edward placate me. I'd been so blind.

My hand was on the seat between us and I felt Edward's fingers, soft, on top of mine. I turned to look at him, and the second after our eyes made contact, our arms were around each other, our lips attacking as though we had just come together following an extensive absence. As if we hadn't seen each other in years.

"I love you," I said, and I couldn't even understand my own words because we were still kissing.

"I love you," he said on kisses, too. And we kept repeating it, our lips attached all the while. We didn't have to understand the words to understand each other.

"No sex in my cab!" the driver said.

That made us both laugh even though we were still kissing. We laughed because there wasn't anything sexual about it. Our kisses were full of need, but that need was not lust-filled desire. It was a different kind of need, a cling to life, a desire to live. We'd been through something together that nobody could understand but us. In that moment - and I would have believed in any moment - we were one another's life source. I needed him and he needed me just to breathe. And we shared our own sort of oxygen with each other through kisses in the back of the cab, ignoring the driver's continued protests of "no sexual relations in my taxi."

When the driver threatened to pull over, Edward paused our kiss to say, "Relax, man. We're not having sex, okay?" And then his lips returned to mine.

* * *

**A/N**: I know this was a heavy chapter. All reviews are appreciated. :)

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_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted: www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891


	19. Chapter 19

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

A new chapter, finally!

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 19

Edward wasted no time finding himself a therapist. He said that if he delayed it at all, he was afraid he'd change his mind, because there were often several convincing moments when he was positive he could handle his stress on his own. For my sake, and the sake of our relationship, he didn't want that to happen.

I understood more than anyone the tricks of the mind - such a slight of hand, it was difficult to tell which thoughts were real and which were fabricated as a sort of survival-based self-protection. And which ones were in fact real but only temporary, because it was true that some days were so good and easy that I could only imagine continuing to improve. That was, until, another bad day came a long, always without warning.

On the Wednesday of his first appointment, he came home different than I'd expected. He seemed happy, but at the same time distant. Something was wrong, though everything about him - his posture, his expression, the tone in his voice - tried for otherwise. I knew too much, immediately recognizing when he was hiding his feelings.

He smiled at me and kissed me by the door without saying a word. Then he went into the kitchen.

I followed. "How was your session?"

"Fine." He reached into the fridge for a beer.

"Fine?" _His first session was fine? _I recalled the uncontrollable tears I was in just after my first session. My need for Edward.

"Yeah." He smiled again, popped open the can and took a swig, watching me as he drank. His eyes were wider than normal, not bulging, not hugely noticeable, but noticeable enough to me. The last thing he was feeling was _fine_.

"Edward…"

"Bella…" He mimicked my inflection. "What?" He pulled me toward him with one hand and kissed me, sharing the taste of his beer. I pushed away.

"Do you like your therapist?"

He shrugged. "Considering what I talk to him about, what's there to like?" He took another long drink. He was probably half finished already. "Don't worry. I mean, the worst happened with Rosalie."

"Are you going to see him again?"

He set his beer down. "Yeah, Bella. What's going on? What are you afraid of?" He leaned his back against the counter, his hands holding the edge, elbows bent.

What was I afraid of? The fact that he came home from his first session veiled with the front of a good mood, while going straight for a beer. The fact that he was being pleasant but secretive at the same time. The fact that the last time I'd seen him talk openly about the events, he'd lost control of his emotions.

"What isn't there to be afraid of?" I asked.

His hand came to my shoulder and massaged. "Relax. You know this isn't going to be an instant fix."

I nodded. "But after what happened at Rosalie's, it bothers me not knowing what went on today. And now you're not here."

"What are you talking about?" His lips were on mine, then traveling across my face toward my ear. "I'm right here," he whispered. His lips moved down to my throat, and I let him do what he wanted. Maybe this was what he needed, or maybe I really was making more of everything than there was. I lifted my arms, locking them around his neck, kissing him back.

His lips hovered over mine. "Do you want to eat out or in?"

"In," I whispered.

"Let's start cooking then." He moved away from me, pulled out a pot and began filling it with water. His back was to me, and it was clear that I wasn't imagining anything. His behavior was odd.

Days went by, and the distance remained. Edward still behaved as if nothing was wrong, and I continued to avoid addressing the issue. I let him pretend.

On afternoons when Edward didn't have a meeting uptown, and on evenings when he wasn't scheduled to play at The Lounge, he spent his time painting. I didn't go in to watch. If he wasn't going to share his emotions with me, I didn't want to see them come to life in his paintings, or possibly overanalyze what I did see.

Instead, I wrote in my journal. I wrote of this static distance between Edward and me, but I also noted another change, a positive one that I'd just become aware of.

I had finally made it to a place where the rape and my fear no longer took over my life.

I found myself going to school, socializing in class, going to the gym with Jessica, all without James or my attack ever coming to mind. It was odd the way this dawned on me too. It was like getting over a cold. After days and days of being stuffed up, sneezing, surrounded with tissues, you wake up one morning, and you're healthy. You're breathing easy and you don't even notice it. That's how it was with me. In group at school, critiquing Ben's story, it was easy to talk with him, make eye contact, laugh. There was no concentration or force either; it was all natural. That afternoon on my way home in the cab, I reflected over the day. When had this become easy for me? When had the need to brace myself for a vision of James, the need to take care of where I placed my eyes, _just in case_, or stare down at my feet when I walked the streets alone, gone away? I couldn't place an exact moment to when this first happened; all I understood was that this was now how it was.

Of course there were still certain moments of vulnerability every day when James would come to mind, and I'd have to guard myself, like when I climbed into bed with Edward and the lights were off, when I was naked and alone in the shower or bath, when I caught a glimpse of any man with blond hair and blue eyes. But those, I'd grown used to. For me, those instances had become as natural as blinking. And they were small in the spectrum of my trauma.

I wrote this in my journal with a smile on my face that I then touched with the back of my pen.

However, with one phone message, the high of my newfound healing crumbled like once green leaves now dead and dry, crushed in a fist. Home from work at the coffee shack on Monday, I listened to my dad as I climbed the last few steps toward our apartment.

There was a simultaneous tremble and fury in his voice, neither recognizable coming from my dad. "I know what happened, Bella." I froze midway through the door. I couldn't move, breathe, or swallow. "Whether or not you return my call, I'll be there on Friday."

I closed my eyes to block the tears. When I opened them, everything was bright but nothing was in focus. Before my next blink, it was almost like looking at the room through a kaleidoscope. There was absolutely no mistaking what my dad knew. I threw a panicked glance over my shoulder before I shut and locked the door, just in case I'd been followed and what my dad knew had happened to me would happen all over again that very second. Maybe it would have been James, maybe it would have been someone else. My erratic heart slammed my insides as if trying to break free from my chest cavity, its jail.

But _how_ did he know? Who could have told him?

Jessica wouldn't have called him. She didn't even have his phone number, nor did he have hers. That only left one person. _Impossible_, at first, but then, who else? My heart's hammering ceased and I felt it drop into my stomach, slowly sinking, as if I was digesting it. Rosalie's ongoing insistence that telling my father was a must, that it would do me good. The need Edward held deep inside to tell someone, to relieve himself from all of the responsibility of what he knew. Edward's odd behavior since his first session last week. His distance.

I felt the sofa cushion beneath me, unaware I'd sat down, and I waited there for Edward to get home. My arms were folded and so were my legs. I was knotted in impatience. He should have been home by now. I released my pretzeled limbs and tapped a foot against the floor, looked at my watch. I thought about calling him, asking him where the hell he was. I didn't call, just waited, all of my unnamed feelings turning to anger. He finally walked through the door, whistling, a market bag in his hand. His whistling couldn't have annoyed me more.

The whistling broke. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

I hadn't moved from the couch for so long, I didn't even notice that the sun had lowered. It didn't matter anyway; I wasn't planning on answering his question. He switched on the lamp next to the sofa, the color of sunset working hard through the tea colored lampshade, casting more shadows around the room than light. He set his bag on the floor.

"Where have you been?" I asked

"I had to pick up some groceries. Bread, lettuce… why?"

"Why are you always pretending to be so damned happy?"

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Edward, I know."

"You know what? You're not making any sense. What's going on, Bella?" He sat beside me, taking my hand. I pulled it away. His hand froze where it was, reaching toward me. "What?" His voice was soft, his eyes narrowing into a squint. I almost felt bad for being angry.

"My dad called." I looked at him, waited. His expression didn't change.

"What did he say?"

"Seriously? You haven't figured out why my dad might have called, why I might be upset?"

"Why are you upset? I don't like this. Just tell me." He lifted his hand toward my hair, paused part way, and recoiled, dropping it to his lap.

"Edward. My dad is coming. Here." I pointed to the floor.

"Why are you acting like I should know this?"

I frowned at him. "You didn't tell him?"

"Tell him what? Explain this, Bella!" He raked a frustrated hand through his hair. "I've never spoken to your father."

I just stared at him again, my thoughts all over the place. If Edward didn't tell him…

"Is this because we're living together?" Edward asked. "Sharing a bed?"

"He knows, Edward."

"Knows _what_? - Oh."

"Yeah, that. And if you didn't tell him, then who? No one else knows. You didn't tell anyone? Alice, even?"

"I said I wouldn't tell anyone."

I stared at him. He hadn't told and I'd been accusatory, worrying him and confusing him. "Great. You must really think I'm some psycho, now."

"I don't think you're psycho. Drop the dramatics. Why jump to conclusions, though? I've never given you any reason not to trust me." He stood up, grabbed his bag and headed into the kitchen. "You just assumed. Didn't even ask," he said without a glance over his shoulder, but a definite shake of his head.

I rushed behind him.

"I'm sorry. But what was I supposed to think? We're the only people who know."

"Bella." His voice was cold and harsh, and he was still avoiding my face. He began putting away the groceries. "How about thinking that I love you, and I'd never betray you? Or that your dad is Chief of Police and he has other ways of finding this shi-stuff out." He shot up from the refrigerator and finally looked at me, the door still open.

"But it happened in New York, he's in Washington. How could he?"

Somewhere between Edward nearly calling what happened to me 'shit' and me reminding him that 'it' had happened to me in New York, it seemed to occur to him that we were talking about my being raped. Even though he was angry at my accusation, his demeanor changed instantly. He dropped the bag of lettuce to the floor, and the refrigerator shook when he slammed the door. He came to me, rubbed my arms and kissed my temple. When he spoke, the edge in his voice was completely gone. "Bella, James is from Seattle. They're probably looking for him all over Washington."

"Oh my god." I brought a hand to my mouth. "You're right. Why didn't I think of that?"

"It's true though, isn't it?"

"Edward, I'm sorry I freaked out on you. I couldn't understand why you would have said anything. But Rosalie has suggested in the past… and I thought maybe your new therapist told you to tell someone. I should've trusted you."

"You should have."

I let him pull me into a hug and it was a relief to hold him, to rest my head against his chest, knowing he hadn't called my dad. Relieved to not feel so much anger toward Edward.

"How am I going to face my dad when he gets here? I definitely can't call him back."

"You'll get through it fine." He rubbed my back, and caught my hair in his fingers. "Just like you've gotten through everything else so far. The worst of it, you know?"

"I want him not to know. My dad of all people. Oh god, if he read the police report… What is he seeing? What does he think of me?"

Edward pulled back and looked down into my eyes. "Bella, you always have this idea that people will see you… dirty or something-" I saw him flinch as he forced the word _dirty_ out through his teeth "-but it's not true. Your dad, I guarantee, is feeling probably the worst pain of his life knowing what happened to you, but all he sees in you is the same daughter he's always loved. And you _can_ face him. I'll be here. There's nothing you have to face alone…"

"You," I said, holding his shoulders and rising to tiptoe to reach his lips.

He laughed. "What did I do now?"

"You. Just being you. You're Mr. Right, Mr. Right-Now, Mr. Right-All-The-Time, all wrapped into one. Shh, don't tell anyone." I brought a finger to my lips. He moved it aside and kissed me. "They'll all be banging our door down to get to you."

"Who will?"

"Everybody."

"We'll have to get out our _Do Not Disturb _sign."

"Can we hang it around your neck?"

"Sure." He pulled my arms around his neck where the sign would go.

"Everything's been so strange lately."

"I know."

"You do know?"

He nodded and kissed me again. "You want me to talk about my session and I won't."

I let one arm fall from around his neck to take his hand, the one with the sore knuckles that had turned to scabs. My thumb drifted over them, speaking more words in that action than would come from my mouth, bringing up memories rather forgotten. "I just want to know that you're okay."

"I am okay. I'm not perfect, but I'm okay. Promise."

"Then why haven't we had sex in so long? You don't even act like you want to. Not since our session with Rosalie."

He smiled and let out a short, quiet laugh. "I was giving you space. But… you want to?"

I sighed and then nodded.

When he kissed me this time, the kisses kept coming, his hands up my back. "Me too," he breathed between kisses. "Always." His hands were under my shirt now. "I don't need dinner. I only need you." He removed my shirt and brought his mouth to my skin, all up and down my arm. Then kneeling on the floor, his lips drifted down my side, across my stomach, up my chest. I pulled his shirt off him too, so I could return the kisses. My fingers followed my trail of kisses and licks along his chest, and then my fingers unbuttoning his pants... I pushed them down. He stood for a moment to step out of them.

"Yours, too," he said and pushed my jeans and underpants down at the same time. Both of us, naked on our knees in the kitchen, touching and kissing until the muscles in our bodies were useless, and we sank the rest of the way to the floor. We almost made love right there on the kitchen floor. Almost. I had to pull a Bella and stop him. He was on top of me and I felt the wood against my back and patted his shoulders.

He lifted his head from my neck. "What?"

"I can't. Not-not on the floor." My eyes were squeezed shut. Edward flew from me. All I could feel was the wood beneath me, and it was happening. I was losing my true surroundings. I shook the visions away, reminding myself where I was, at home, safe, with Edward. And my eyes opened.

Edward was turned away, sitting with his elbow on his knee, his head in his hand. "What was I thinking?"

I sat up, rubbed his shoulders, and kissed his back. "It's okay."

"Don't, Bella." He turned toward me, his eyes, once again, slits of pain. "Don't comfort me. I should know better."

"You're not supposed to have to think about stuff like that. I didn't even know I would react like that… until I knew." I crawled into his lap and his arms drew me closer, closing me in against him.

"Is it ruined?" he asked, his warm breath against my shoulder.

I considered bringing him into the bedroom, to the bed. But I remembered the last time I tried continuing when I knew James was on my mind. It ended in a flashback triggered by Edward's words. We'd both been crushed.

Times like these and I wanted to scream. After my recent acknowledgement of how far I'd improved - so long since even a flashback - facing forward with a near cocky attitude toward life. "I'm beating you," I could have said a few hours ago, only for life to knock me back again.

My father now knew how hurt his daughter was, against my wishes, and I couldn't make love to Edward because of halting flashbacks. I wanted to scream out my frustrations.

"Later," I said, stifling everything in my throat, in my gut. "We'll try again later."

We sat naked on the floor in silence for a while, feeling each other, hands moving over skin, but no kissing. No anything else.

Edward broke our silence after several minutes, maybe twenty. "It was hard…" he said, and somehow I knew he was talking about his session. "I don't know how you've done it this whole time, Bella. It's so much easier to just hold it in."

"For the time being, it's easier, but in the long run, it's worse."

"I know. That's why I'm doing it. But talking about it without you there… and then seeing you again. I was afraid of having another melt down."

I nodded, my chin against his shoulder. Fear was something we'd both been dealing with for months. Fear of ourselves, which is a difficult thing to comprehend.

I thought a change of subject might do us some good. "We do have that other problem you brought up."

"What problem?"

"My dad doesn't know we live together, or share a room. He's not going to take that well."

"You're twenty-three. In grad school."

"And he's still my dad."

"Maybe you could move into the art room while he's here. We'll be real roommates, not bedmates." He held me tighter and I turned to get closer to him, neither of us liking that idea at all.

"Lie to him?"

"Omit," he said. "For the sake of safety."

"Omit. It could work. It worked before, for a little while, anyway."

That night I lay awake in bed, my back toward Edward, his arm resting over me, and I thought of James. I wondered where he could be. And it wasn't in a "hopefully they'll find him" way, though that was always there. It was real wonder of where he was, what he was doing.

_Is he living a normal life?_ I asked myself. Did he have a girlfriend? A job? Did he laugh? Did he ever think of me or what he did to me? If he did, was it something he regretted or was it all justified in his mind somehow? And then, did he think of Edward? Did he miss us, what the three of us once had together? What he destroyed.

I felt the threat of tears and the damp heat of sweat over my body. I would not cry. I'd given James enough of my tears, more than anybody else in my entire life combined. He didn't deserve them and wouldn't get a drop more. I kicked off the covers, taking my frustrations out on the sheets. With the sheet and comforter down around our ankles, I continued kicking, wanting no part of my body covered, lead weighing down on me, keeping me. Edward stirred and pulled me in closer, tucking me into his body as if, even in his sleep, protecting me from something that wasn't there. And that's exactly what it had been for the past four months. Edward and I had been fighting against something that wasn't even there. How is it ever possible to win a fight like that? We couldn't see our enemy, touch it, or gauge what it might do next. How could either of us come out winners?

* * *

**A/N**: Is it okay to ask for reviews after making you wait weeks for this chapter? I hope so.

I apologize for the delay. Real life stress got the better of me, and I lacked the focus I needed for this story. It's back though (the focus) and I expect to be updating regularly again, now until the end.


	20. Chapter 20

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted:** www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 20

I buzzed Jessica up, and considered the nicest way to cut this unexpected visit short. I really needed to start on my story and then my weekly write up on Chaucer. I was already behind in my studies, and with my dad coming in two days and then friends the following weekend, now was the time for me to catch up, maybe even get ahead. It had been an emotionally demanding couple of weeks, and my own natural procrastination didn't help move things along any. I unlocked the door for her, opened it slightly so she could let herself in, and then I spread my books and papers around the coffee table. Maybe she would see I was busy - take note herself. She'd been impressing me lately with her insight.

She threw the door open. "Bella!" She hugged me, wouldn't let go.

"Hey, Jess."

"Bella," she said again, squeezing. "I hate not living with you. How are things here? Are you and Boy Toy getting along?" She walked to the sofa. "Geez, your place is a mess."

"It's just, I have to study."

She started cleaning up for me. Closing my books, stacking my papers, and then she finally sat down. I looked at Chaucer and wondered if it would be rude of me to read while she talked.

I reached for my book. She took it from me.

"Canterbury Tales?" She opened to the first page, fell back against the sofa and tried to recite some lines. "Is this even English?" She tossed it down. I watched it land and wobble at the corner of the table, almost fall off. "Bella, let's go out, get some coffee or something. There's that place around the corner, right? That place any good?"

"Jess, I can't go out. I really have to work on my papers. Want me to make you some coffee?"

"Forget about it," she said. "I just really need to talk to you."

I sat down between her and the corner of the sofa. "About what?"

"I think Mike is cheating on me."

"Who's Mike?"

"My boyfriend. I told you about him."

"No. I'd remember if you told me about a boyfriend."

"We've been dating for a couple of weeks now. You'll like him when you meet him - he's funny. It's not that hard to make you laugh anyway, but he is really funny."

"What makes you think he's cheating on you?"

"Well, the other day he brought me flowers. I thought that was sweet… just for no reason, roses, red ones. But then I thought the bouquet looked small so I counted them and there were only six. I think he split them up and gave the other six away. You know, two for one?"

"Maybe he just couldn't afford a whole dozen. Long-stem roses can be expensive."

"Come on." She eyed me, disbelieving. "Plus, I saw him with some brunette. They were kissing."

I laughed a little. I couldn't help it. "Why didn't you just start with that? Now I can see why you think he's cheating on you. He is." I put my hand on her shoulder. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. It's not like we're exclusive or anything, but still, the flowers? Half a dozen? I don't like that."

I dropped my hand. They weren't even exclusive?

"Jess, you're welcome to stay, but I really have work to do. I don't want to be rude, but I'm a little stressed out here. Do you want to watch a movie?" I looked at the TV. It was dusty from non-use. I questioned if it even worked.

"I couldn't concentrate on a movie right now." She lay across the sofa, her head in my lap.

I reached for my book.

"Why do you have to live so far away?"

"It's only a few blocks."

"Seven blocks. That's farther than the next room. You used to be in the next room. I miss you. Where's gorgeous Boy Toy?"

"He has meetings all afternoon. He'll be home soon." He did have a meeting earlier, but in truth, he was now with his therapist, his second visit. I opened my book with one hand and pet her hair with the other, trying to relax her. "How about if I read to you? Just listen. You'll see that it's English."

She fell asleep as I read. It was no wonder she was tired. She never stopped talking or moving from the moment she stepped out of bed every morning. Naps were as necessary for her as they are for toddlers - the recharge. I sat as still as possible, didn't even move when my legs started to stiffen, afraid to wake her. When Edward walked in I shushed him right away, a finger over my mouth.

"Baby girl's sleeping," I whispered.

He came over and held her head gently so I could scoot out from under her. We went to the kitchen and gave each other 'hello, I've missed you' kisses.

I didn't ask him about his session or how he was. I just looked at him for a minute with his face between my palms until he smiled. Then I told him about Jessica's cheating non-boyfriend.

"Poor Jess," he said.

I sat at the table where my laptop and its blank screen screamed at me, and I started typing ferociously. My story was going to be crap.

Edward cooked dinner for three and didn't talk to me; he knew I needed quiet. He did come over every-so-often to kiss me, though. That was a welcomed distraction. Sometimes I held his face or the back of his head to lengthen the kiss. He laughed and told me to get back to typing, but it didn't stop him from returning for another kiss a few minutes later.

I knew I would be up all hours just trying to make this story into something that would be slightly less embarrassing. I kept typing, hoping that soon I'd have something substantial to work with. Somewhere, covered in layers of cobwebs, good sentences were evading me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the first thought that came to mind: gardening. I _Googled_ it and after a few clicks, my story was born.

My character: a woman with a gardening addiction. She couldn't let any extra seed go unplanted. When she ran out of room in her own yard, she planted in her neighbors' yards. Then she blamed the birds when zinnias shot up in rose gardens. Okay, not a lot of substance but plenty of quirk, and my workshop group liked quirk.

Once I had my characters, got to know them a little bit, the story became. That's just how it worked. My fingers moved along the keyboard, trying to keep up with my brain... _Damn! I lost that word_. What was that word, that perfect word…? The close words I could come up with weren't good enough. My fingernails drummed on the table top, trying to drum the word back into my brain, but it wasn't working - too noisy. I stopped, closed my eyes, but the word was gone. Poofed away, through the air, probably landing in someone else's mind. Someone else had my word.

"I lost my word." I saved my work and closed the laptop, giving myself a break.

"What word?" Edward asked.

"I wish I knew."

"Boy Toy! You're here! And cooking!" Jessica bounded into the kitchen and practically jumped on Edward. She was hugging Edward next to the stove, held him around the waist, holding onto him for a while. I went over there.

"Feeling any better, Jess?" I asked.

She shook her head against Edward's chest. That was my move. He took her shoulders and pushed her back at arm's length.

"It's good to see you again, Boy Toy." She tickled his stomach. He liked his stomach tickled. That, I knew. I looked at his face to see if he enjoyed her touch. His eyes hadn't changed; he seemed unaffected.

"You know he's not really a toy, don't you?" I said.

Edward came to me, wrapped me in his arms from behind and kissed the side of my head.

"Are you hungry, my love?" he asked, and it wasn't a whisper. I relaxed against him, my face reddening over my laughable jealousy. Then I smiled because I just discovered something new to love about Edward.

I turned around and hugged him. "I love you even more than I did yesterday."

"That's the way it should be." He kissed me, and we might have forgotten Jessica was there if she hadn't started reprimanding us for our insensitivity in making her feel worse about her situation.

In her words, she said, "Stop shoving your perfect relationship down my throat." Then she announced it was time for _Bella to help me set the table_.

We sat down to mushroom ravioli. Yes, it was as good as Jessica said it was, but when she asked if Edward made it from scratch, we had to admit to her that we'd picked it up at our favorite place in Little Italy and froze it.

"The garlic bread is mine, though," Edward said. "And so is the salad."

His salads were art - like a still life painting. They held every color of the rainbow - tomatoes, cucumbers, feta cheese, thinly sliced carrots, yellow peppers and red onions all mixed in a bed of deep green and purple leaves. I wouldn't have been surprised if, instead of tossing the salad, he carefully layered it, deliberately placing each vegetable exactly where he wanted it.

"Yours? Oh, really? Did you grow the tomatoes yourself, Boy Toy? I need to find myself one of you. I need to stay away from these cheaters."

"Jess," I said, "if you really like Mike, you should ask him to be exclusive." I passed her the salad bowl.

"I don't know if he's the exclusive type. He's the all-inclusive type. You know, eats his cake and frosting, too? How can I possibly eat this? It's too beautiful. How did you get the tomato slices perfectly symmetrical? This should be in a museum! Boy Toy, don't you have any friends for me? Don't you sexy artsy types all hang out?"

I dished the salad out for her so she didn't feel too bad for messing with art.

"I don't do set ups," he said. "Sorry, Jess, you're on your own, there."

She sighed and ate her food and fell strangely quiet. Apparently it was one of those calm before the storm type things. "Bella, what about you? You're in college. Isn't there some silent intellectual type you can hook me up with? Come on, I'm a good catch, aren't I?" She tossed her hair over a shoulder like that was all it took, that proved what a great catch she was.

"I don't really have a social life at school. I just go to class, go to work, and come home."

"You two act like you're all married. I'm nowhere near settling down like you. I still have wild oats to thread."

I looked at Edward; he smiled at me and I felt his foot touch mine under the table.

"I love how you modify old adages," I said to Jessica. "It keeps things interesting and not so cliché, but there's a difference between s-o-w and s-e-w."

"What is she talking about? Go read your Canterbury, smarty. I need advice from Edward." She was actually giving me permission to study?

"Go ahead, Bella," Edward said. "I know you're behind. Jess and I will take care of the kitchen."

"Okay, but Jess? Could you keep your hands to yourself? Edward is _my_ boy toy. I don't share."

She laughed even though I was serious. I pulled Edward by his collar and kissed him long and hard until he was standing up with me and kissing me back with so much fervor, it was all I could do not to pull him into the bedroom with me. He was breathing hard when I released him, and he practically fell back into his chair.

"Sure, Bella, but you're the one getting him all hot-and-bothersome and then leaving him in here with me."

My eyes widened, passing between Jessica and Edward. His eyes were all cloudy. He wasn't seeing clearly.

"Calm down," Jessica said to me. "We both know he only has eyes for you."

"You got one right, Jess! Good for you."

I was almost in the bedroom when I felt someone spin me around. I barely had a second to panic before Edward's mouth was on mine. "I like this game," he breathed into my mouth. "Let's play some more."

We kissed until Jessica's voice vibrated through our heads like church bells. "Edward, I'm cleaning up all alone. I need to talk to you!"

"Please," Edward whispered. "Do your homework as fast as you can. I want you. Right after she leaves."

"Of course," I said. "I'm yours."

"You say that to me and expect me to go back to her?"

I swept my fingers through his hair. "Go on," I said. "You can do it."

Jessica stopped in to hug me goodbye before she took off. I reached up, balancing my laptop on my lap, papers ruffling around me as I shifted my weight toward her to return the hug. Her troubles, for the time being, seemed to have subsided. She closed the bedroom door on her way out.

Minutes later, Edward knocked, and when I called for him to come in, he knocked again. I scrambled off the bed to open the door.

"Why did you knock?" I laughed.

He didn't answer, just kissed me.

His lips and hands at my waist guided me into the room, where he spun me around, backing me up against the wall, all without removing his lips or tongue from mine.

"Mmm... finally," he said, his hips pressed into me, revealing how he was feeling. He lifted me up against the wall, my legs wrapping his waist. He dragged the kiss down my jaw, along my throat to my chest.

"We can't do this with clothes on," I said on heaving breaths. I pulled off my shirt and bra while Edward still held me up, kissing any and all revealing skin his lips could reach.

He set me down so we could remove the rest of our clothes.

Then we were kissing again. He held my face to his, and started turning me toward the bed. I stood still and strong.

"No," I said.

"What?"

"Right here," I said, backing up to the wall.

He shook his head.

I pulled him close and licked his neck, his ear - licked his lips and they opened for me. I held his face at an angle so I could kiss him deeper.

"Right here," I said again. I wanted the spontaneity. We made love successfully the night before, on the bed, Edward on top. We learned that, as Edward had suggested, he could talk to me through my orgasm and it wouldn't stop. This filled me with confidence and determination, and a desire to be impulsive for once. I encouraged his heavy breathing with my hands, my lips, my tongue.

"Are you sure?" he asked, stepping closer to me, pinning me between him and the wall so I couldn't move, and then looking down at me, as if testing me. Could I handle it?

"Yes," I said. "Will you?"

"Anything you want, Bella," he said, hands at my waist, fingers moving upwards along my sides, over my breasts, his thumbs, his fingertips and then his lips. I tilted my neck, facing the ceiling.

He picked me up, placing me right where we both needed me to be. He entered me slowly and cautiously as he always did, watching my face and gauging my panic. There was none.

"It's all you," I said - in case he needed reassurance - as I slid my hand down his face.

His only answer came from his body, allowing himself to move deeper within me. His arms were around me, one wrapping my waist, the other one up the middle of my back, his hand cradling my head as he kissed me, pushing up into me. All I felt behind me were his arms, his muscles, no wall. And the care he took with me while we had sex against the wall, our bed in plain sight covered in my schoolwork mess, had me nearing my peak already.

I held him close, trying to match his speed, giving back whatever he gave me, but the way he held me left little room for movement. Edward was doing it all. With the control he had, he must have perceived my vulnerability, so with every moan or grunt that escaped his lips, he said my name.

"Bella," he managed, or, "I love you." As long as I listened to Edward's voice, smelled his scent, saw his eyes, and felt him wrapped in my arms and my legs, my emotions were impenetrable. There was no fear.

He sped his pace, his hand falling from my head, clutching my shoulder. My body was nudged upwards against his arms with every forward push. Eventually his words were as incoherent as my thoughts and I fell into an all-consuming haze or fog or world of Edward. It swept me up in its pull, its rotation.

He let me collapse over his shoulder, still holding me up, his arms against the wall, blocking my body from feeling any rough surface. And when he set me down on my feet, my legs didn't work quite right so we dropped together to the floor.

I put my hands on his biceps, rubbed on them. "You're so strong."

"You're just light," he said, completely out of breath. He wrapped his arms around my bare body and I curled into him. This felt almost as good as making love to him. I smiled, unable to take my eyes off him, his face shiny with sweat, his eyes the cloudy glaze of jade, his lips thick and grinning. I kissed his smile.

"I could look at you or kiss you forever," I said.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." And he kissed me.

"Are you going to bed now?" I asked, his lips slipping along my cheek.

"Mm-hmm."

"I still have work to do. Should I go to the living room? Will my typing bother you?"

"Mm-mm." He shook his head. "Do it in here. Don't go anywhere."

I rested my head in the curve of Edward's neck, prolonging this for as long as I could, procrastinating again. My work could wait.

His agreeable fingers tickled my hip.

~::::::~

I knew that my dad was arriving on Friday via a connecting flight in Boston. I knew that his second flight would land at JFK at 6:54 pm. I knew that he was staying for three days. I knew all of this through messages left, of which the guilt from my intended neglect to return his calls kept me from listening to until Friday morning. Thoughts entered my mind on Friday that had me playing my voicemail in the next instant. What if something happened? What if there was a change of plans? What if he wasn't coming at all?

And there was a change of plans, though this change was the last thing I expected.

"No, no, no, no," I said. "I'm dreaming. This is a dream."

Edward looked at me questioningly, and I replayed the message for him, unable to form words of my own.

"Jacob's coming?" he asked. "Your Jacob?"

"He's not my Jacob," I said, but yes, he was coming. My dad's message stated that after hearing about his visit here, Jacob had asked to tag along. He wanted to see me. And my dad said that he thought it was a good idea. It would be good for me to see an old friend, with old ties - someone who cared about me like family - and unless he heard back differently, he'd assume that meant I wanted Jacob to come.

"I clearly should not be in charge of my own life," I said.

Just last night, resolved to the idea of my dad coming, even excitement stemming at the thought of seeing him, I'd woken and turned toward Edward. His eyes were softly closed, relaxed, his eyelashes so long I was compelled to touch them. One light touch of my finger and Edward wakened, looking at me. No words. We kissed and made love in silence, me climbing on top of him - no need to speak. Savoring that time together before we would be separated in different rooms for the next few nights.

Afterward, as quiet as if in a dream, we fell back to sleep; it might never have happened, but it did.

That was just last night. And now, Jacob was coming, added to the mix, throwing me back. Anxiety taking me over again.

Yesterday was my appointment with Rosalie, the last one of the week. But I could call her. I'd call her and she'd tell me what to do.

I moved absently into Edward's art room as I waited for Rosalie to pick up. I explained the situation, staring blankly at Edward's new paintings.

"You don't have a choice, Bella," she said. "They're already in the air. But look, your father could be right. Turn this into a positive thing."

"How? My ex-boyfriend, my dad, both here together, with Edward. How is this a good thing?" I left the art room, wandering back into the bedroom as I spoke. Edward was somewhere else now - the kitchen, the bathroom, I wasn't sure - giving me privacy.

Through the sliding door, onto the balcony I drifted, listening to Rosalie.

"I know Edward doesn't want you stressing over him, so let that go. There's nothing you can do about that. Do you trust Jacob?" she asked. "Would he hurt you?"

"He wouldn't hurt me."

"Okay, so, welcome the challenge. You can do this, Bella. You can share an apartment with him, an old friend you still trust. Imagine how you'll feel when you get through this, and you will get through it. And listen, if for some reason you can't handle him being there, just like we talked about with your other friends, send them both to a hotel."

Despite the sun more prominent than the clouds, there was more than a little chill in the air. Goosebumps formed up and down my bare arms from the mid-morning breeze. Below, leaves on the trees shook with the wind. They were mostly yellow, not yet brown, not yet falling.

I nodded. "I just hope my dad hasn't told Jake."

But Jacob was the last thing on my mind when my dad stood peering down at me in the doorway. He looked almost the same, handsome, mustache as thick as ever, eyes darker than mine, but with bags beneath them. When had he last slept? I pulled my arms around him and held on tight. My daddy. In his arms, I was four years old again. He was forcing me to cross the dock to his boat, attempting to suppress his smile at my irrational fear. I teetered as I walked on tiptoe, careful not to step between the cracks, losing my balance as the dock sank and then lifted with each step we took. My dad caught my hand before I fell, but then let go again. He was there for me if I needed him, but he was confident I could do it on my own, get to the end of the dock without slipping through the slats.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Jacob standing tall behind my dad. He was looking at the floor, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Did you tell him?" I whispered.

My dad gave a quick shake of his head and I breathed easier, still holding on tight to him, and he held me tight too.

"I missed you," I said, speaking the truth, though it obviously wasn't the sole reason for my tight hold on him.

He didn't say anything, which was unlike him. I questioned if he was too choked up to speak. As far as I was concerned, if we didn't let go soon, I would certainly cry, and I wasn't supposed to cry over James anymore. Not only that, tears would definitely raise questions in Jacob's mind, if this embrace hadn't already. My dad and I had, after all, just seen each other at the end of May, and our hug hadn't lasted three seconds back then.

I started to back up, and my dad kissed my cheek before he released me. I had to look away as I caught a side-glimpse of him, reaching for his eyes.

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A/N: As always, reviews are appreciated!

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted:** www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

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The Other Side of Me

Chapter 21

Jacob wiggled a hand through his coarse hair, black and shiny, like steel. I knew that the sun could cause a silvery-white cast over strands of his hair when it hit just right. So black that with the right light and angle, it could become white. In that same moment I was reminded that Edward's hair also shone in the sun - but his held a gold cast. Jacob looked up from the floor with eyes nearly as dark as his hair, deep-set and cool, his thick eyebrows rounding into a smile that warmed his whole face.

"Jake," I said, forcing a smile of my own. I held a hand out to him. "It's good to see you."

"Bella." His smile grew, all coolness abandoned - a faded memory - as he took my hand and pulled me into a hug. His pull caught me off guard, rough. I landed too hard against his cement chest, his arms closed around my shoulders too tight as he rocked me back and forth. It was a playful hug, and I couldn't breathe. I squirmed away from him. His arms let me go, and he dropped a hand to my wrist.

I saw myself slide across the floor of my old apartment, hit the wall. That had never happened before. Usually I felt it, as if it was happening all over again, but his time I saw it, outside of my body, like a movie. I blinked several times, my hand reaching for the back of my head. There was no James, not yet. Just me on the floor, blacking out.

"That's all I get, Bells? Not even a kiss on the cheek?" I felt a tug on my arm and I yanked out of his grasp.

"Stop…" It might have been a whisper. I gave a quick shake of my head. James was coming in the darkness; I knew it.

"What? What did I do?" He reached for my wrist again.

I stepped back, folding my arms across myself. "Can you just stop grabbing me for a second, please?" My heart was speeding. It was ridiculous. This was Jacob. Edward and my dad were right there. I was aware it didn't make any sense but my panic never made sense anyway. I glanced around. Our apartment. My dad. Jacob. Edward next to me. I focused on their faces.

"Grabbing you?" Jacob said. "I just wanted a hug. What's with the weirdness?" Jacob stepped forward, reaching for me again, his fingers grazed my skin.

I squeezed my eyes. "James, stop!" I moved away from both Edward and Jacob. Too much touching.

"_Enough_." Edward's voice was gruff, his hand flat against Jacob's chest, holding him back. Jacob didn't move, staring Edward down - coolness back.

The tension filling the room could have strangled us - dozens of braided wires wrapping our throats. The air was heavy, like piles of wool blankets. Thick and hot. It was hard to move.

My weighted hand reached for Edward's fingers. Before he clasped my hand, he lightly caressed my palm - perhaps a test to see if I'd yank away from him as I had Jacob. Thinking about it later, this action reminded me of how you let a strange dog sniff you before you pet him.

I moved closer to Edward, his arm locking instantly around my shoulders. I couldn't look at Jake. I was too embarrassed.

Edward's hand flat against my head followed me as I pushed my face into his chest. It may have appeared to an outsider as if he'd moved my head there, tucking me into an embrace, while the reality was I was trying to block out the images playing through my mind. I took a long, deep inhale, smelling Edward - the strongest sense in grounding myself in the present.

"What's up with you? You're both weird. Why did you call me James, Bells?"

"She's not weird. She just doesn't want you touching her. _Respect that_."

Edward's voice was deep and echoed through his chest. Another inhale of him - the outdoor-fresh of his aftershave from his neck, the cleansing scent of our laundry detergent in his shirt - his fingers gentle down my hair, and all my true senses were coming back to me, the room's temperature again bearable. I thought that maybe Jacob had been distracted enough by Edward not to notice my actions very closely, but when I chanced another look at him, he was frowning at me, surrendering, his hands in the air.

"Sure, man. I'm all about the respect."

"Jake," my dad said. "Forget it. Bella's just surprised to see you. Maybe she never got my _message_? Communication hasn't been our thing lately, has it, Bella?"

I shook my head.

Jacob turned his eyes back to Edward. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Edward. I live here."

Jacob raised his eyebrows. "Bells, your boyfriend's a little possessive, isn't he?"

"Bella," my dad said. "You live with your boyfriend?" Edward's hand dropped from my shoulder. I held my breath again.

"Okay. Edward, this is my father, Charlie. Dad, this is Edward, my boyfriend." They shook hands. "Jake, Edward. Edward, Jake." They didn't shake hands. They did glare at each other, jaws clenching. "Let's all go sit down now." I nudged them toward the living room, letting my dad and Jacob go ahead of me while I paused to ask Edward to grab some beer. We were going to need it.

"Wait. Are you okay?" he whispered. "Because you did say James, Bella."

"Yeah, I um…" I gave a quick head shake. "I'm back now. I'm okay."

"You're back? From a flashback?"

"Kind of."

"Come here." He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead, then my lips. "You know you're safe, don't you?" He rubbed my arms.

I nodded.

"Okay then, I'll be right back."

My dad and Jacob were seated on either end of the sofa, the only free spot was the cushion between them.

"How's Leah?" I asked Jacob, hoping some friendliness would smooth over our strange beginning.

"How should I know? She left me four days ago. For someone else." He did that slight pout thing with his lips and crossed his arms over his chest the way he had in the past when he wanted something. I narrowed my eyes. That used to work on me. Now I saw it as manipulative. What did he want?

"Bella," my dad said. "You're living with him?" He motioned with his thumb toward the kitchen.

I melted to the floor by my dad's legs. Cheese. I understood exactly what Edward had meant when he'd described Emmett. Okay. Omission. Omission. Omission. "Dad. I thought that you could take my room and I would sleep on the couch. But since Jake is here, I don't know what the sleeping arrangements will be."

"_Or_," Jake said. Edward handed him and my dad a beer. "Thanks, man. Or… you could sleep in Edward's room, your dad could take _your room_," he did the air quotes thing, "and I'll sleep on the couch."

Edward sat next to me on the floor, opened his beer, and rested an arm at my waist.

"Bella, what's going on?" my dad asked. "There have been enough lies. Are you two living together or not?"

"Jake." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Could you excuse us, please?"

"No prob. I have to make a phone call anyway." He exited the apartment as nonchalantly as if he hadn't just opened a can of snakes, like _he_

wasn't the snake.

"I wish you didn't bring him here," I whispered.

"Explain," my dad said.

I glanced over at the door, double checking that Jacob really was gone, and then back at my dad. His eyes were intent on mine, awaiting an answer. The truth. He deserved the truth.

"Dad, after James…" I swallowed, "...hurt me." I couldn't say _rape_ to my dad. From the look on his face, it seemed he was relieved by my word choice. "I had trouble… I couldn't sleep alone, so Edward let me sleep with him."

"Sure he did."

I ignored that. "And after I started to get better, we just decided to keep it that way so, that's that. Happy now?"

"Uh, not remotely. Why didn't you tell me about James? I'm your father. Do you have any idea what it's like to read something like that about your daughter on a police report?" Tears filled his eyes. "There was not enough oxygen in the station. I knew I must have read the name wrong because my daughter would have called me. Asked for my help. When I think of what I could have done for you if only I'd known. Months, Bella. We could have had James by now." He stopped, his back quick against the sofa as if he shocked himself.

In the next few seconds, past moments with my dad flashed through my mind like a strobe light. The ones that stood out the most were the times when he had to play both the mother and father role simultaneously. Like when I started my period and he tried to talk to me about it with an awkward stuttering - "Bells, I think you're uh, you're uh, becoming a woman..." - before I released him from the shackles of that conversation by letting him know that I'd already learned about it all in school.

Or when he had "the sex talk" with me. Since Jacob was my first boyfriend, I never really had a first date - not a definable one. Not one where my father was introduced to my date with a clear outline of our plans and what time I'd be back. I was just always with Jacob. So that sex talk had included both of us at age seventeen, sitting with my dad at the kitchen table. I still wonder how he'd feel if he knew that we'd already been doing it for a year by the time he sat us down and embarrassed us all.

I remembered the day, just weeks after my mom left, when my dad had brought home a kitten from a box outside the market. Orange Marmalade. My cat had slept on my bed - more familiar with my secrets than any person had ever been. And when my cat disappeared my senior year, it was my dad's shoulder I'd cried on, and he'd cried too - but his silent tears were more for my loss than for the cat.

I looked across at my dad now, his face contorted in a sadness I'd never seen in him before. His hurt from what James had done to me was made far worse by my omission. I could see in his face, his eyes, even the way he held his hands together, that he was more pained than ever - even more than when my mom left us. I wished I could make it go away, perhaps just like he and Edward wished they could do the same for me. But that wasn't possible. There was no magic touch or word or smile that could do that.

"I just. I didn't want to upset you and I was humiliated, and it feels like the less people who know… the less people who look at me like that-" I pointed at his face, his creased brow, his turned down lips, his tears trailing from the corners of his eyes, rounding his nose, wetting his mustache "-the easier it will be to forget it. Pretend it didn't happen. If I know people are thinking about it around me, it just makes me think about it and I hate that."

Edward tightened his hold at my waist, pulled me closer, kissed my temple. The look on my dad's face softened.

"It's selfish, I know it is. But it's how I cope, so please, don't tell Jake or anyone else."

He nodded, wiping his tears. He leaned forward, held his hand out for mine. I reached toward him and his fingers clung to mine.

"My little girl," he said, shaking his head over and over again, giving me a squeeze. "My girl. I love you, Bells."

"I love you too, Dad." I squeezed his fingers back. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

I caught him glance at Edward. What was going through his mind just then? Was he thinking of how Edward, my boyfriend, a stranger to him, had known all along what he, my own father, hadn't a clue of?

"No," my dad said. "It isn't selfish."

"Your turn," I said when he released my hand. "Tell me again why it was such a good idea to bring Jake here."

He sighed and rubbed his hands along his jeans. He seemed uncomfortable in his seat, but where else was he going to go? "He wanted to get away from Forks and Leah and her new beau, and well, I didn't know… I didn't know you had… Edward." His eyes shifted toward Edward again. I couldn't help but dislike the way he kept looking at Edward, as though he was an intruder or an enemy. "Jake asks about you all the time, and you were inseparable for years. He cares about you like family and I thought... I don't know what I thought. Just that he, his uh, his humor, his spirit, might do you some good."

I nodded. "But Dad. Why is it that you found out about me now? Why didn't you find out months ago?"

"Because you didn't tell me, Bella. I knew what James Garrett was wanted for, but I didn't know who the…" he reached up and scratched his forehead, his eyes squeezing to a tight close "...victim was." Eyes open again, he dropped his hand to his lap. "I didn't even know you were acquainted with him. Not until I saw the report."

"But why now when it happened back in June?"

"Did you call the police when his father came to see you?"

I nodded.

"That's why. Every year, Seattle hosts a "Breakfast with the Chief" event. Chief Diaz is an old friend of mine. I made a trip down there last Thursday to put one over on him. Pretend I was a fan. They were expecting Reid Garrett in for questioning again - for the third time, Bella." He gave me a pointed look that I couldn't quite read the meaning of. "They'd already talked to him twice before your call in about him. The file on James was right there on the desk, his picture, your name. I left without saying anything to anyone, and spent the weekend getting caught up on the case. Bells…" He leaned toward me. "Because Reid came to visit you, because you called it in, they may have leads on James and his whereabouts. His father has a lot of property all over the US, but that's not all. He has some in Canada as well."

I was stone still, and squeezing Edward's leg. He took my hand. "You think he's in Canada?" I asked.

"It's a real possibility. But his father coming all the way here to see you? Whether or not he admits it, we know - the police _know_ - he's definitely withholding information."

Silence permeated. It rang through my ears. Nobody said anything else, only communicating through looks, stares.

Jacob broke through it, an intrusion.

"I'm back. You can all stop talking about me now." He took his seat on the sofa and drank from his beer. The same Jacob I'd always known - assuming he was the subject of our tense conversation, making a joke of it, not letting it bother him, or at least not letting us know if it had. All three of us watched him, still silent. He looked at each of us, his eyes finally settling on me.

"What?" he asked.

"Who did you call?" It was all I could think to say.

He let out an exasperated laugh through his nose. "Leah. She's moving her stuff out, and I know she's going to take my-" he groaned. "You don't want to hear about this. Hell, I don't even want to hear myself talking about it. As soon as she's gone and I don't have to deal with her anymore, the better. Let her new asshole deal with her."

I flinched, remembering those were pretty close to my thoughts after he'd dumped me for Leah. Still, Jacob had managed to keep himself in my life, even if at a distance. Taking time out for my dad and me during the holidays over the past years, coming to my college graduation. And here I'd been treating him like a disease since he'd stood at our door.

"I'm sorry, Bells. I thought you'd want to see me."

I cleared my throat and let myself blink, a relief to my drying eyes. "I do want to see you. You just… you took me by surprise. And Edward's right. I don't really like to be touched anymore." I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. "It's so crowded in New York and people are always touching. It really gets on my nerves. I hate it. It's like fingernails down a chalkboard." I shivered.

"Yeah, well, he never stops touching you, does he?" He aimed his beer at Edward, whose fingers were tracing up and down my arm.

I turned to Edward. "He better not." Edward offered what he could of a smile, keeping his fingers moving on my arm. Jacob groaned. My dad coughed. Edward didn't stop.

~::::::~

We kept the sleeping arrangement that Jacob had suggested.

Before bed, I showed my dad to the art room. He took some time looking around at the paintings, raising his eyebrows at a few. I knew he wasn't an abstract kind of man. He liked accurate detail, questions answered. There were things about Edward he might never understand.

"I love his art," I said. "And him." I looked right into my dad's eyes when I said it. "You know, he's showing his paintings in two weeks. Down here at a small gallery in the Village. It's a big thing for him."

"What about you?"

"I'm writing. A lot, actually. I thought I might have lost all ability to write, right after…" I looked away at the wall. "But I have this awesome therapist and Edward and my classes. I'm doing all right," I said, and meant it.

"How am I going to leave you here in this city on Sunday?"

I stared at him, unsure how to answer that. He didn't have a choice. New York was my home now.

"I'll pay for your tickets anytime you want to come and see me. Please visit more often, Bella." There were tears in his eyes again. I had to avert my gaze.

"I will."

"I don't understand why you want to live here. So far away. There are plenty of good schools closer, with great writing programs. Better than NYU."

"Dad? New York isn't to blame. James is."

He turned his back on me; his shoulders shook. I stared at them until the quivering calmed, wondering if I should touch him, offer him a hug, or if that would make it all worse.

"I should have done something," he said. "Educated you better, or met James before you took off across the country with him. Performed a background check. I'm doing one on Edward. Don't think I won't."

"Edward won't hurt me. Give him a chance. He's been through a lot, too. James was his best friend. Edward was nearly as traumatized as I was. And he's also in counseling now. Besides, I'm sure you've done a background check on James. Did it reveal anything that would have helped you predict what he did? Even as an _educated_ officer of the law? I was close to him for four years and didn't have a clue."

"Do you need anything?" He faced me again, red-eyed. "How are you doing with money? Is your insurance covering therapy?"

His need to do something for me was touching and made me smile. "For now. Not much longer, though. Soon I'll have to limit myself to once a week appointments, and in two more months, it runs out."

"I'll pay for it as soon as insurance won't cover it anymore. And you'll go five days a week if you have to."

We both knew he couldn't afford that. "Thanks, Dad."

~::::::~

I was relieved that I would be sleeping in Edward's warm arms. On my way over to him at the foot of the bed, I slipped my night shirt on.

"They might find him," I said. "What if they find him?" Through all the hoping and praying and dreaming that James would be caught, I never paused to think about what that entailed, everything it would mean.

"Then he'll be brought to justice."

The only way that could happen, I thought, was through trial. Facing him. A shiver ran through me - ice.

"I don't want to talk about it. Can we not?" It did occur to me that I was the one who'd brought it up. Maybe I'd meant those words more for me than for Edward.

"I have a change of subject in mind," Edward said. "Why does Jacob call you Bells? I don't like it."

"You don't like the name, or that Jacob calls me that?"

"The second part."

"Are you jealous, Mr. Edward?" He was only in sweat pants, no shirt. I tugged on the waist of his pants. He took a couple of steps forward.

"No, _Miss Bella_. Just irritated by that guy. What did you ever see in him?" His arms enclosed around me.

I shrugged. "He was different before Leah. Or maybe he wasn't. I don't know. I certainly didn't have you to compare him to back then, did I?" I kissed his chest, rubbed my lips against his skin, and looked up at him again. "Don't worry about 'Bells.' It doesn't mean anything. My dad calls me Bells, too. It's not a pet name or anything. Jake's pet name for me was-" Edward's finger covered my lips.

"I don't ever want to know that, if I can help it."

"Aw, you _are_ jealous. That is so cute."

"Cute?" He half-smiled.

"Yes, cute."

"How cute?" He brought one hand to the small of my back as his other hand wandered up my thigh under my shirt, landing at the base of my cotton-pantied bottom.

"The cutest." I reached around his neck, fingers in his hair, and pulled him toward me for a kiss.

Edward was the one to break the kiss, Jacob still on his mind. "He thinks of you as family? Do you think of him that way?"

His jealousy was becoming less cute, and more real. "Um, I don't know. He's been a constant in my life, more than my mom, or my friends, but not as much as my dad, so I'm not sure. Is that family?"

He shrugged and brought a finger just under my jaw, watching as he traced a soft line down my throat. A faint smile rose to his closed lips. "I think of you as family." His eyes met mine for just an instant, and then he turned his head away… self-consciously?

"We _are_ family," I said, bringing his face back to mine.

Edward lifted me off the ground and hugged me tight. "Bella," he said into my hair.

"What?"

"We're not supposed to talk about it, but they might find him, Bella. They might have him. Soon."

* * *

A/N: As always, reviews are appreciated!

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.)


	22. Chapter 22

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted:** www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 22

Edward brought us all to The Lounge the following evening. I could tell my dad felt uncomfortable in such an upscale place. The classiest place in Forks was the cabin-diner which was mostly bar, and instead of elaborately painted gold-colored walls, it was built of the same old naked walls of planked wood, worn down and weathered by winter upon winter, and in need of a good polishing.

That place back in Forks reminded me of an old man relying on a cane to steady himself - I was sure it could come crashing down with any big storm, though it never did.

Now, in a decked out lounge with twenty-odd floors stacked on top of it, I pointed out that even though most of the people here were glammed-out, everyone in our group was in jeans. I gestured to my sneakers and smirked at my dad. He laughed.

"You haven't changed, Bella."

I stared up at him, grateful. He had no idea what that comment meant to me. I hugged his arm and I almost cried, effectively reminding myself that I _had_ changed. A statement like that never would have threatened to reduce me to tears before.

We all took a seat at a round, velvet-covered booth and waited for our drinks, my dad not a little perturbed that he couldn't order a beer. "What kind of bar doesn't serve beer," he said. I ordered him a screwdriver; he liked orange juice, after all.

Jessica arrived before our drinks.

"Bella!" She was breathless as usual, either from moving quickly or her incessant talking, or both. She had more energy than Alice. Thoughts flitted through Jessica's mind like skittish flies, landing on one subject for a heartbeat before fleeing off to the next. How many thoughts did she actually keep a hold on, letting them settle in to her memory? With the speed of her yapping, it seemed there was no time for settling.

I hugged her, thanking her for coming.

"You smell like lemons," she said.

I laughed and may have blushed. Just before we left, I'd smothered my hands in my lemon-scented lotion, taking Rosalie's suggestion of using a strong fragrance as a reinforcement to my senses during more fragile moments. And after last night's flashback, followed by our excursion to the darkened lounge, fragile was an understatement in comparison to how I felt. Now I could lift my hands discreetly to my face and take in the lemon aroma any time I felt threatened or panicked. It could quite instantly bring me back to the present, or keep me from ever dissociating at all.

_Dissociative-Bella, still not cured_, I thought. Less than half a year ago, I never would have considered the sense of smell to be an actual weapon in defending myself against my own mind.

Jacob's interruption from his seat at the table was a relief.

"Who's the beauty, Bells?"

Jessica did look beautiful in her blue silk mini dress. Her hair was lighter. She'd gone full blond since I'd last seen her - only three days ago - and it suited her. Her lips were red and appeared stained rather than lipsticked. Her eye shadow was a soft teal color. She once told me that us brown-eyed girls were lucky; we could wear any color shadow we wanted and look good. Brown eyes never clashed with color. Since I rarely wore eye color at all, it mattered more to her than it did me, and she had every color imaginable.

Her chin was down, eyes on her hands. A small smile played at her lips. She was pretending to be shy. She liked Jake already. I couldn't resist laughing.

"This is my friend, Jessica," I said. Edward stood up so Jessica could slide in next to Jake.

I asked Jessica about her roommate. She said that he was a complete neat freak so the place was always spotless, and he didn't even mind doing all the work. "You know the paint on the floor from the artists? He mixed up some sort of solution and got it all up." He had spent all day on it, and after he was done he was so happy that he bought Champagne at the corner market - the one where I used to work back in that other world - and served her drink after drink. She said that the downside to having him around was that after he gelled his hair, he wiped his hands on the same towel she used on her face.

"Look." She pointed at the tiniest pimple on her chin. "He's making me break out. And the other thing is, he's always bringing boyfriends home. That was one thing about you, Bella. You hardly ever brought guys home. I didn't even know you and Edward were dating until you moved out." My eyes closed tight. "I mean, sure I was gone for a month, so…"

Edward leaned in and kissed my cheek. "It's time. You all right?" he whispered. I answered by moving out of his way so he could go to the piano.

"Where's he off to?" Jacob asked, but I didn't answer, knowing he didn't really care. The air in our apartment had been nearly unbreathable whenever Jacob and Edward were in a room together. They either made cracks at the other's expense or snapped at each other. I thought that maybe Edward was being a bit harsh to Jacob because of what had happened at his arrival. And that wasn't really Jacob's fault - my reaction. But when I pulled Edward into our room to bring this to his attention, explaining that Jacob wasn't the one to blame, Edward turned cold on me, stiffening, his lips tight.

"What about when he put you on the spot about sleeping arrangements? Is James the one we should blame for that?"

"He probably thought he was getting back at us for not really welcoming him."

"Getting back at us? Is he twelve? Bella… did he think that maybe he'd have a second chance with you now that his other relationship is over?"

My eyes widened. "No. He can't be thinking that."

"And your father, did he think that too? Is that why he brought him? You told me they've become good friends."

"My dad couldn't want that for me." I shook my head, though I wasn't completely convinced of my own denial. "Just… Edward, he's only here until tomorrow. We can tolerate and be civil to him for one day."

He stared at me for a minute before nodding. Conceding, though reluctant.

"Or maybe - maybe this _is_ you tolerating him. Maybe I should be thanking you for allowing him to stay in, essentially, your apartment."

He didn't hesitate to respond this time. First with a shake of his head and then, "Are you serious, Bella? Have I ever made you feel like this isn't your apartment too?"

"No," I said, "but sometimes people don't always say what's on their minds. And let's face it, there's a lot you haven't been able to say to precious little me in the past."

He took my arms in both of his hands, his touch gentle, but his look angry. It made me recoil.

"This is our apartment, and your friends or family are as welcome here as mine would be."

"Okay," I whispered.

Edward dropped his hands with a sigh and gave another shake of his head. "Are you afraid of me right now?"

"No."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bella. I'm just mad. I can't ever get mad, can I?"

"Why are you mad?"

"How would you feel if I sided with an ex-girlfriend, and then thickened the line drawn between us by calling this _your_ apartment?"

"Edward…" I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. I hadn't meant to side with Jacob. But had I? Was that how it sounded? And if I'd gone to Jacob instead and asked him to be more civil to Edward, how would that have looked? I was almost certain that if I'd gone that route, Jacob would have taken offense, more than Edward had, and only exacerbated things. "I didn't mean to do that. I just hate all this tension, and I knew that if I came to you, you'd rise above. You'd be the better man."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." He started away from me, but I took his elbow and turned him toward me again.

"You didn't disappoint me. You were right and I was wrong. And my head's all screwed up, I'm aware of this. But I'm not afraid of you, Edward. Really, I'm not. If you want to be angry with me, go ahead."

"That's not what I want." He dropped his forehead to mine and groaned. "And I'm not mad. Not anymore. That all went away when I saw that look on your face. But I appreciate your permission. I'll keep that in mind for next time."

I smiled.

"I'll ease up on him, like you asked."

Foreheads still pressed together, I reached up and touched his face. "Thank you… Love."

I saw a smile pull at the corner of his mouth, and I kissed it. He caught my lips and kissed back, holding me close. Before Edward's kisses made me forget, I took a moment to wonder what would really happen if we ever got into a full-blown argument, the kind that normal couples sometimes have. Would I involuntarily cower and would he be forced to give in for fear of scaring me? Was that what had just happened? Didn't he deserve to let his anger out every once in a while? Wasn't that normal? Healthy?

Then Edward's kisses broke through my thoughts, breaking up the questions that had listed themselves all orderly in my mind, and dispersing them until they were nonsense. All that was left were breaths and heartbeats, and me wanting to pull Edward to the bed. As our hands found their way underneath shirts, we both stopped, remembering that my dad was in the next room reading the paper.

It turned out Edward's idea of easing up on Jacob was to not say anything to him at all. I couldn't ask more of him than that. At least the glares had stopped.

I'd decided that inviting Jessica to meet us at The Lounge would be a nice distraction for both Jacob and Edward. Jessica was, in truth - like a strong wind - a great distraction for anyone.

When Edward took his seat at the piano and started playing, I quieted everyone down.

"Listen," I said.

"Classical?" My dad took the last sip of his drink. "What ever happened to the good-ole juke box?"

I pointed and they all turned.

"Edward?" my dad and Jacob said at the same time. Jessica wasn't surprised. She'd joined Edward and me here a few times in the past. Once we both sat on either side of Edward as he played. A man congratulated him on the two beautiful women in his life. But then Jessica had pressed a few keys, trying to mimic Edward's song, and Edward said, politely as possible, that she had to go. She made me go with her. My leaving his side was almost enough to invite Jessica to sit next to him again. _Almost_, he had told me. But he couldn't risk her ruining his song.

"He's good, isn't he?" Jessica said.

"That kid's got talent," my dad said. He raised his eyebrows. I could tell he felt similar to the way I had when Edward first brought me here. Shared this secret of his with me. That seemed like decades ago instead of months. A different time. A different life.

"I played with him once," Jessica said, and I gaped at her. Is that how she saw it? Her very own deluded version of it? "I'm sure I got the keys right."

Jake didn't comment. He played with the end of Jessica's hair until her attention was on him again.

I offered to get more drinks. The crowd was growing and I knew it would be quite a while before the cocktail server made her way to our table.

"Anyone want anything?"

Jake and Jessica both ordered Kamikazes. That was definitely Jessica's idea. I wondered if Jake knew what he was getting himself into. I went to the bar by myself without a second thought and I wasn't even truly aware that I was by myself until I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to face blue eyes, blond hair. My heart sped up. My eyelids closed.

_Focus,_ I told myself. _He's not James, not bad, just a person. Edward is a few feet away. My dad is here. He has a gun_. _Just don't touch me_, I pleaded in my mind as I opened my eyes, bringing my fingers to my lips, the lemon scent closer to my nose. "Yes?"

"You want a drink?"

"Um, yeah, I'm ordering for my friends." I pointed toward our table. He didn't look.

"How about you? Can I buy you a drink?"

"Oh, no thank you."

"What, you don't drink?" He smiled.

"I do. I just don't need you to buy it for me."

"Come on. It's a free drink. Nothing more. I'm not asking you to come home with me."

I clenched my fists, tried to slow my breathing, looked around. The Lounge, people everywhere, not alone, he's harmless.

"One drink? Do me the honor." He poked my waist. I backed up, listening to the piano, Edward's playing. I reached up in the pretense of pushing my fingers through my hair, swiping my shaky hand past my nose and taking another lemon-fragranced breath. I looked at the guy's face, avoiding his eyes. He was smiling. Not angry.

"What do you say?"

"I have a boyfriend. He's right there." I pointed at the piano.

"Got it," he said, again without following where my finger pointed. He nodded and left.

I frowned. That was it? He understood? He backed off? I smiled to myself and continued to the bar to order our drinks, well aware that I was alone and I was okay with it.

Sam caught sight of me in the crowd. I saw him gesture with his arms for people to step aside. "Let that lady up here. I need to fix her a drink."

I inched my way through the crowd, careful not to bump anyone. Sam had always been nice to me. It hardly took any time spent with us to notice how protective Edward was over me. Sam caught on early, and without questions, did his best to make me feel comfortable, relaxed, whenever I came to The Lounge.

He gave me a tray to carry all the drinks back to my table. I did my best to block out the memory of the last time I'd carried drinks on a tray: the art on the walls, the elegant kitchen, the chef in the white apron that had been my friend.

Jake and Jess were in their own little world as I passed out the drinks.

Just as I took my seat, Edward appeared. I hadn't noticed that the piano had been replaced by Jazz over speakers. My dad congratulated him on his talent.

"Can I talk to you?" I led Edward to a quiet corner of the lounge, weaving through tables - all of them occupied.

"Edward, this blond guy came up to me."

"What guy?" He looked around.

"It doesn't matter. Listen. He offered to buy me a drink."

"Where is he?" He was still looking all over, as if the guy would just raise his hand, _Here I am_.

"Edward." I held his face with both my hands. "Focus." His eyes found mine. "He touched me. He poked me, playfully." Edward's jaw clenched and he tried to avert his eyes to cast another glance toward the bar, but I didn't let go of his face. "I felt panic coming."

"Bella," he said through his teeth, "tell me what happened. Now."

"I'm trying! Nothing happened. The point is, I panicked over nothing - normal flirting - and I calmed myself down. By myself!" I smiled big. I giggled a little.

Edward allowed himself a small smile. "That's all that happened? You're not hurt?" He grabbed my shoulders. "You're not scared? Where did he touch you?"

"That's all. I'm proud of myself. I wanted to share it with you."

He pulled me against him. I felt his heart beating fast in his chest. His hand draped down my hair. He sighed, dropping his cheek to my head. "I'm proud of you, too. I'm sorry. I also panicked." He laughed. "Obviously you're stronger than me, tonight." He took my face and kissed me. "I still don't want guys hitting on you, though."

There was a time, not so long ago, when I couldn't have imagined ever getting to this point. I took control of myself, my panic, even James. I had faith now that maybe someday, just maybe, I could have my shoulder tapped, turn to blond hair and blue eyes without my heart speeding, without having to concentrate on my surroundings, without even thinking anything at all. Maybe. Faith was with me; it was there and that was something. That was big. Back at the table, I pulled my journal out of my bag, wrote everything down, complete with the big smile I'd given myself. I couldn't wait to tell Rosalie.

"You met Mike, Bella," Jessica said. "What did you think of him?"

"Who?"

"Yeah, who?" Jacob asked.

"That guy you were talking to at the bar, Mike. Did you like him? What did he say to you?"

"Oh, that was Mike? He was nice."

"I told him I was going to be here tonight. Do you think he came here because of me?"

"Which one is he?" Edward asked.

"Who's Mike?" Jake asked.

My dad whistled. "Just what this Mike needs," he said. "The only thing you two boys can agree on in two days is figuring out who this Mike guy is. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now, I'll tell you that. Not even with my gun. No way."

We all laughed. Mike was forgotten.

~::::::~

Sunday morning, packed up, luggage by the front door, my dad asked me to walk with him. I pulled a sweater over my arms, zipped it up and continued fiddling with the zipper, up and down, as we descended the stairs. Stepping out of the building, I squinted into the day, and the noise of the city was a welcomed contrast to our uncomfortable silence.

My dad took a deep breath. He must have got a whiff of the melting-pot of mid-morning smells. Breakfast dishes, coffee, the strong smell of bacon, colliding with the spices of Thai in preparation of the lunch buffet. We headed up the street, the overwhelming smells behind us now.

"Did you have fun last night?" I asked to fill our silence.

My dad lifted an arm over my shoulder and held me against his side as we walked. He didn't answer my question. I looked up at him, saw him rub at his chin.

"Bella." He stopped walking and faced me. We were almost to the corner. Cars were stopping at the light ahead. People passed. "Come back with me. Come home."

"Dad." I took a step back. "I-I can't."

"Because of Edward? What kind of man would he be if he didn't understand that you needed time at home? With family."

I knew that Edward was just the type of man who'd understand that. My mind drifted through different scenarios of Edward here in New York without me. He wouldn't have to worry about me all the time. Or maybe he still would, maybe it would be worse. Sleeping alone in our bed. Maybe waking from a nightmare, a flashback of his own, without me there. What would he do? Who would he turn to? And me, without him… I couldn't fathom it. I'd never leave him. That I knew.

"It's not just Edward, though, Dad. I live here. I have school. I'm pursuing my dream. My life is here now. And yes, that means with Edward. Definitely with Edward."

"Your Edward, he's a good guy."

"He is. I'm lucky to have him. I don't know what I'd do without him."

"I'm glad he's here for you, Bells, but I hope he realizes he's the lucky one." He ducked his head so I could see his eyes, see how much he meant what he said.

"He thinks so." I looked away again.

"He should. You astound me, Bella. You're everything I knew you would be. Strong. You can do anything." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, as if it was that easy for me to do anything. I wanted to tell him that just then, he reminded me of a natural New Yorker.

"I guess I take after my dad, then."

I saw a quick smile. "What about Renee? Do you want me to tell her what happened?"

I shook my head.

"She's your mother."

"Don't, Dad. Don't tell her. I can't think about that."

"Haven't you learned anything about keeping something like this from family?"

"What would she say anyway? It would just be like she stubbed her toe or something. An inconvenience that stings for a little while, but can easily be shaken off and forgotten about."

He studied my face. "Is that what you believe? That's how you see your mother?"

"Yes, it is. You don't know her the way I do. You didn't have to spend summers being ignored by her. I was always excited to see her and she was never excited to see me. I was her summer burden. A weed that kept growing back."

"Even if you do believe that, Bella, isn't that how you want it? For people to forget? Isn't that the reason you claimed to have kept it from me?"

"Claimed to? You think I'm lying?"

"No, no. I don't think you lied. Wrong choice of words. Habit. But your mom, what if she finds out the way I did?"

"This is too much, okay, Dad? She doesn't have access to the information that you do. Maybe someday I'll decide to tell her, but not yet."

"You let me know when, then. You don't have to be the one to tell her, but I do think she should know." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "And Bella, you can be sure that if James ever steps a toe in Washington again, we've got him, Bella. We've got him. We _will_ get him."

"Okay," I managed, believing, hopeful, terrified.

When he hugged me, one arm closed over both of my arms and the other one held my head, like armor - the terror left my body and with it came tears, leaking out onto my dad's shirt. I wasn't supposed to cry, but it was too late. There were too many emotions going through me to concentrate on faking my strength.

"I love you, baby girl," he said, and a sob escaped me. "You call me if you need anything. And if you ever change your mind, my house is yours." His own voice shook, both of us falling apart on the Village streets.

After a few moments, some calming breaths, we turned to head toward our building.

"You'll come home next month? For Thanksgiving? And Christmas, too?"

"For Thanksgiving and Christmas." I nodded.

In the apartment, my dad went to double check that he'd packed everything and to give Jacob a call to make sure he was on his way back from Jessica's.

I found Edward in our bedroom and without a word, wrapped my arms around his waist. His lips pressed against my head.

"He asked me to come home with him," I said.

Edward didn't say anything, but I felt him stiffen as his arms loosened his hold on me.

"I told him no."

His hands moved up my back and under my hair. "For you or for me?" he asked, and I barely heard him.

"Both."

He went to the bed, sat down, and pulled me to his lap. "I don't want you to go."

"I'm not."

"I don't want you to."

"I know, Edward. And I don't want to."

He kissed me, his hand holding my face to his, my lips to his. "Stay," he said through a kiss.

I pulled back to look into his eyes. "I am staying, Edward. Are you okay?"

"I don't know." His eyes were small, tired, almost with the appearance of defeat. "I feel ambushed."

"Ambushed? How do you mean?"

"Your dad, bringing Jake, and with the intent of taking you home with him. And he doesn't like me. I don't think he trusts me."

"You're wrong. He likes you. He just told me."

"He did?"

"Yes, Edward. And what's not to like, anyway?"

I told him that I'd promised to spend the holidays with my dad, and that I wanted him to come with me. "Will you?"

"I'll go anywhere with you," he said.

"We should go out there now. It's time to say goodbye."

Jacob wasn't back yet. My dad was looking at his watch. They still had three hours before their plane would depart, but my dad was one for punctuality. He moved through life ahead of schedule. Time was always ticking along behind him, while the rest of us often chased it.

"Edward," my dad said. "You know I read the report."

"I do." He stepped toward my dad, near the entrance to the kitchen. I stayed a few paces behind, leaning against the back corner of the sofa.

"You're what we at the station technically call… a hero."

Edward didn't smile. He shook his head.

"Thank you isn't enough," my dad said. "But, thank you. Thank you." He hung his head, brought his hand to his forehead for a second. "If it weren't for you… I don't even want to think about what could've happened to her."

"Neither do I. I can't even think about what did happen."

I went to the couch, folded my arms around my stomach, trying to push those thoughts away myself - what _did_ happen, what _could have _happened. I looked at them, focused on my dad and my love getting along.

My dad shook Edward's hand, pulled him closer, gave him a back pat. They were still talking when Jacob walked in. He plopped down next to me. My cushion bounced. He handed me the key I'd lent him last night. I toyed with it in my hand, thumbed over the teeth of it.

"You're a little late," I said. "By my dad's standards."

"I walked. I wanted to think."

"Ah," I said, "the walk of shame."

"Something like that, I guess." He threw a glance over at my dad and Edward. "I can see I've been completely replaced."

I didn't say anything. Jacob needed to know that Edward had nothing to do with him. Edward could never replace anybody; he was in a category all of his own as far as I was concerned. There was nobody before him and nobody after him. I didn't give Jacob the satisfaction of a reply.

"Just kidding." He nudged me with his elbow. I looked at him and he held up his hands. "Sorry, I forgot about the no touching rule."

"It's not necessarily the touching, Jake. I mean, not with you. It's the grabbing. I can't be grabbed." I shook my head and stared straight ahead at the empty TV. Why did we even have that thing? We never watched it. It collected dust, took up space. I imagined a plant in its place. I could water it, help it grow. Something green, something alive, something _I_ could take care of. Nurture.

"Bells?" I didn't answer. "Bells?" He turned my face toward him. "Did something happen to you? Were you mugged or something?" I looked into his eyes, round with worry, and so dark his pupils were barely distinguishable. I contemplated telling him for just a second. For that one second, I saw the familiar Jacob. My friend, my first boyfriend.

I shook my head.

"Something's different. I can feel it."

"It's nothing," I said and looked down at my hands, because I knew the truth was the furthest thing from nothing that I could think of.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me. But if you ever feel like talking, I'm here for you, you know that, right? You do know that? I mean, I know I hurt you. God, do I know it now, after Leah. At the time, you know? I thought I was doing you a favor. Breaking up with you instead of cheating on you. And I was a cocky asshole about it. I'm sorry for that, Bella. I've been sorry for a long time. I've never stopped caring, though, okay? And I know I annoy you and joke around more than I should, but I do care. I'm here whenever you need me. Like The Flash," he joked. "Like Superman."

"I know." I took his hand in mine and he squeezed my fingers, bringing them to his lips.

"Thank you for this."

I pulled my hand away. "Jake," I said. "You were never under the impression that you and I might…" I didn't finish. He knew what I was getting at.

"No. That was a long time ago, Bells. We had our chance. What we had was right for us back then. We've grown up. We're not meant for each other in that way."

"What about my dad? Did he think it? Or say anything about you and me?"

"All he said was that he'd need some time alone with you and that you might be homesick. That you might end up coming back with us. And you'd need my help packing up."

I nodded, taking a breath.

"He didn't know you were living with that guy."

_That guy _came over, sat on the other side of me, put his arm over my shoulders and I leaned against him.

"You okay?" His whisper tickled my ear. I nodded. He swiped the back of a finger lightly down my face. "I love you."

I turned to him, smiled. "I love you."

* * *

**A/N**: Reviews are appreciated.

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.


	23. Chapter 23

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted:** www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.)

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 23

"How do you feel now that your father knows?" Rosalie asked, sitting in her office, our chairs turned to face one another.

She'd continued to dress in her conservative skirts and button down shirts every time I came to see her, her hair pulled neatly back, her hands calm and poised as usual, touching my leg or my arm when she felt it necessary. But she now spoke to me in a chatty tone, as if we were lifelong friends. And my own hands were nearly as still as hers most of the time. I noticed how my fingers didn't shake as I pushed hair over my shoulder.

"Is it every nightmare you imagined it would be?"

"No," I said, trying to put into words just how I felt. "It feels… like… something inside me is more solid," I decided, making a fist as a visual. "Something that used to be like liquid-" I relaxed my fist, opening it "-or just worn thin. As thin as one of these leaves." I reached out and touched one of the variegated leaves of the plant on her desk. The plant was still as full as it had ever been, flourishing in this spot off the ground and in the natural light that swam through the generous, door-size windows.

Rosalie's laugh brought my attention away from the plant. I wasn't aware I'd made a joke.

"I remember when you took one of those leaves on your first visit."

"Not much of what I did back then made sense, did it?"

"Sure it did," she said. "It made perfect sense to you."

She was right. It had made sense to me. I'd felt a sort of kinship with that plant. Its delicacy, its two-toned colors. I was in a different place now though, one where I didn't identify with plant colors, or leaf fragility. I was nowhere near as weak or dependent as this plant, and I was certainly a more solid color now. I tried to be proud of my new mind state, but there was still a part of me that not only felt I could, but expected I would, crumble any day, at any moment. I wasn't used to consistency anymore. My consistent sense of self was long forgotten in the wide road of the past, while this new self teetered on a tight rope. A wobbly, unsure existence I'd grown used to. Like worn in stilettos, I guess - comfortable but unstable.

Rosalie snapped off a leaf and handed it to me. "Here. Take it. A reminder of how far you've come."

At home overlooking the balcony, where I stood letting a new story take shape in my head, I pulled the leaf from my pocket and let it go in the breeze. I watched it sway toward the ground, sometimes lifting again, and then again higher, as though it would never make it to its destination. The wind, the atmosphere, had absolute control over this leaf's destiny. I could no longer spot it, though I was sure it hadn't hit earth yet, hadn't joined the much bigger, dead leaves cluttering the soil.

I shivered. Autumn had evidently staked its claim on New York, as if here was where it belonged; winter snow would never come and summer heat had never existed. Another shiver ran through me. It was hard to remember how hot I'd been a few weeks ago.

The front door slammed. It jarred me from the balcony. By the time I got to the living room to see what the slamming was about, Edward was exiting the kitchen with a beer in his hand.

As quiet as our place had seemed after my dad and Jacob were gone, it was nothing compared to the silence that would pulse from Edward this evening. The only sound that had come from him was when he'd slammed the door shut.

"Hi," I said, surprised he hadn't greeted me first, hugging me and kissing me, as usual.

He nodded to me.

I followed him to the sofa, watched him sit down, feet crossed on top of the coffee table, sipping his beer.

"Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, but the roll of his eyes betrayed him.

I sat beside him, waiting for him to say something. The refrigerator gargled and ice cubes plunked around in the ice maker. A crash came from above as if someone upstairs had dropped a microwave box or something. It seemed I'd be waiting forever if I didn't interrupt Edward's silence myself. I watched him bring the bottle to his lips.

"I want one too," I said.

He went to the kitchen and brought back a beer for me.

I set it down on the table, unsure why I'd really asked for it in the first place, other than to break up the sound of my own breathing.

"What do you want for dinner?"

He shrugged.

"I feel like pasta. Is that okay?"

"It doesn't matter. Whatever."

"Spaghetti?"

"I said whatever, Bella. I _don't_ care." He drank some beer, hadn't even looked at me.

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. I knew he hadn't had a therapy session; that wasn't until tomorrow. I sifted through my mind for something I might have done or said to make him angry.

"Did I do something?"

"No." Still not even a glance in my direction.

He got up. This time I followed him into the kitchen, where he set his empty beer on the counter and pulled another from the fridge.

"What's wrong, Edward?"

"Nothing." Back into the living room we went. The back and forth of the conversation mirrored the walks to and from the kitchen.

"Something's up. What is it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Does it have to do with James?"

"No! God, Bella. James has nothing to do with it."

"I'm sorry. It's just you're leaving me to guess."

Edward shifted in his seat. I was sure he'd moved a bit away from me. "Bella, you're too- you're suffoc... just give me some space."

I moved back as if slapped. Edward moved forward, elbows on his knees, his head on the side of his wrists, the beer bottle facing the ceiling.

He used to live alone before me, I remembered. He could wallow in a mood like this all he'd wanted without anyone bothering him. That was what he was used to when it came down to it. He'd lived alone for years, and here I'd been with him for mere months - always the cloud of damage James had caused surrounding us both. Not often were we able to live as the people Edward and I had been before.

I left him there to sulk, if that was what he wanted. I didn't want to _suffocate_ him. I cooked the pasta, using the tomato sauce we'd made together and froze. I threw together a salad that wasn't half as beautiful as the ones Edward made. I just tossed it regular-like - no art to it at all.

I called him to the table and we ate across from each other in the aggravating silence for a while. I thought about what he did for me when I was upset. He'd talk to me about frivolous things or about his childhood, anything to get a smile or a laugh out of me. I tried the same for him, but the only care-free childhood stories I could think of at the moment included Jacob. That didn't make him any happier. He didn't want to hear about Jake teaching me to fish when we were twelve. How I was so grossed out by the worms that he threaded them on the hooks for me and all I could do was get my line tangled with his, so every time I felt a pull that I was sure was a fish, it was only his line and he'd have to untangle it.

Edward at least gave me a half-smile because he knew it was just like me to get my line tangled over and over again. That small smile gave me the incentive to try again.

"There was this girl in high school. Lauren Mallory? She was so jealous of your sister. Alice was her only competition for the boys in school. The only girl prettier than Lauren. No matter how bitchy Lauren was to Alice, Alice was as sweet as powdered sugar to her. Wasn't even upset about it at all. At least she didn't show it-"

"Can we not… do this?"

I stopped. I couldn't even cheer him up properly. "Edward, you have to tell me what's bothering you."

"Bella. No. Just stop."

"Why not?"

Without an answer, he shoved his chair back and took his plate to the sink. I heard him rinse it off and then the rattle of him sticking it in the dishwasher. I put my face in my hands and rubbed against my forehead in exasperation. This was new. I wasn't used to this side of Edward. He returned to his seat at the table.

"Look. I'm sorry if I'm hurting your feelings. But I don't want to talk about anything."

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

"I can't help it. Don't you understand that?"

He looked at me. For the first time that evening, his eyes met mine. Then he nodded. "Yes, I do." He sighed.

I reached across the table to touch his hand, and it seemed my touch drew his words out. Maybe I'd gone about the whole thing wrong. Maybe I should have just rubbed his shoulder, hugged him, when I saw he was upset, offered him comfort instead of clobbering him with incessant questions.

"They rejected my art." He was looking down at where his plate used to be.

"What? Why? Why would they do that? They chose you. Requested you!"

"I still get to keep the initial payment. So don't worry about the money. It won't be near as much as it would have been. But it's something anyway, for my time." He scoffed at that, shook his head.

"I wasn't worried about that, Edward. Why did they reject it?"

"The author wanted more color. Said she had imagined it more vibrant. She wanted the pages to 'pop.' I said that the story read subtle, quiet and slow, and that I thought the softer colors matched the flow better. But it's her story, right?"

"They wouldn't give you a chance to change it? But you worked so hard on it. So much time…"

"Oh, yeah. They told me to _fix_ it. It may not be my story, but it's my art. I have some integrity, you know, some pride. The minute I heard fix, I knew I couldn't do it."

I walked over to him, moved his arms so I could sit on his lap, and I rubbed his shoulders. "So _you_ rejected _them_, then."

"Either way, I didn't get the job." He put his head against my chest. "I hate that you have to know when I fail."

"You're not failing," I said, lifting his face. "How is it even possible to think that when you're showing your own paintings in a week and a half?"

He nodded and shrugged. "So, you can't fish, huh?"

I laughed. "Couldn't fish. I can now. I eventually learned. I'm not a complete imbecile."

"You're not an imbecile at all." He kissed me for the first time that evening. "I'm surprised your father didn't teach you."

"My dad gave up. Jacob didn't."

He nodded. "I guess Jake has some intelligence. Enough to see what you're capable of."

I kissed him then, wrapping my arms around his neck and shifting to straddle his lap. His hands at my ribs held me to him, his fingers inching my shirt up until he caught flesh. And then he was lifting my shirt off me. I pushed my hips against him feeling him beneath me. His want. Our bodies and kisses grew in intensity, our clothes slipping off and we were making love on the chair. His arms wrapped all the way around my waist and I relished the feeling - our bodies pressed together so completely, both of us holding onto each other in equal need. It was a love so deep that he was not only entering my body, but my soul, my spirit. I felt our spirits tangle together, becoming one just as we were one. Nothing matched that feeling.

Togetherness like this, sex, could be a powerful tool, I'd come to learn. It could convince us, for a little while anyway, that everything was all right. We were okay.

Edward voiced my thoughts after we finished, sitting together, still linked, our skin sticky with sweat. He kissed my throat, my chest, didn't stop the kisses.

"This is all there is in life," he said. "This is living. Shitty art, rejection, none of that matters. This right here, you and me. This is what matters." He was still kissing me, my collar bone, my shoulders, behind my ear with a sweep of his tongue. It was enough for me to want him all over again, and he was still inside me.

~::::::~

On Friday evening, Alice was the first to step through the doorway, her boyfriend towering behind her. She came at Edward and me in an earthquake of jumps and hugs, spilling out question after question that never got answered. There was not enough time between Alice's pauses for breath to form answers in our minds, let alone get them out before her tangent of inquiries moved on to something new. Jasper just watched with an amused grin on his face. If it was if he'd seen it all before and was watching a rerun. Finally, possibly ten minutes later, she introduced us. Edward stood close to me, his arm at my waist, when Jasper's hand came toward me. Edward knew what to expect from me, the way Jasper surprised us by appearing so similar to James. Tall, slim, blond hair and blue eyes. Instead of looking at Jasper's face, I looked at his hand when I shook it. A strategy of getting through the week with Jasper in such close quarters had already begun working itself out in my mind.

"Nice to meet you," I told his hand. I hoped he would assume I was shy and not rude.

Emmett arrived while Edward and i were well into answering Alice's earlier questions. Catching up with glasses of wine in the living room, Emmett joined us and I got to see him turn to cheese for the first time.

"B-Bella," he said. "I've heard a lot about you. How is- do you- you're in school, right? For, uh English, is it?" He blushed. His bronze cheeks actually turned pink.

"I _think_ that's what they're calling it," I said, smiling. "And it's going well."

His eyes shifted to Edward. As soon as his attention was on Edward, he had all the confidence you would expect a man of his size to have. "Why didn't you tell me she was beautiful? Didn't even mention it once."

"Right," Edward said as they hugged. Then he reached around and whacked the back of Emmett's head. "Quit checking her out." Emmett and I exchanged a glance with matching smiles and pink cheeks.

During my last therapy session, I'd invited Rosalie to dinner. It took some convincing to get her to come. She was unsure of how I'd feel socializing with my friends while my therapist was there. I told her I was inviting her as a friend, not a therapist. Rosalie was the last to arrive, though she'd come the shortest distance, and if I thought Emmett was cheese before, he was cheese-whiz now.

Rosalie reached her hand out. "Nice to meet you."

Emmett was able to take her hand and shake it, but beyond that, he no longer resembled a human. He held her hand too long and just kept nodding and smiling. Rosalie had to twist her hand to get it out of Emmett's grasp.

"Sorry," Emmett said, somehow finding his way back to reality.

"You're lucky you're cute, Emmett," Alice said.

He laughed. He was okay around Alice. They'd known each other for years.

"You _are_ cute," Rosalie said, and then I had to avert my eyes from her coy smile because witnessing my therapist flirt - friend or not - was all too strange.

"Knock out," Emmett said. "You. You're a knock out." He was talking to Rosalie but looking at the wall. _Don't look directly at the beautiful woman, Emmett_.

As we sat down for dinner, I scooted as close to Edward as possible. Our chairs touched. Alice and Jasper sat across from us. Emmett was next to me at one end of the table and Rosalie was at the other end. Emmett seemed to be more relaxed by now, getting used to the pretty girls, I supposed.

"Why didn't you invite your old roommate, Bella?" Alice asked. "I wanted to meet her."

"You'll meet her, just not tonight. I love Jess, but she can be a little much to take. She's… unpredictable. I didn't want to subject you to her tonight."

"What's up with Jay?" Emmett asked, and even though he had directed his question at me and I was right next to him, I couldn't answer or even look at him. "I thought he'd be here. Aren't you all attached at each other's hips these days? Your little threesome?"

I looked at Edward and he looked back at me. His eyes kept me grounded. They told me this was simple conversation.

"Trouble in Paradise?" Emmett asked.

Edward cleared his throat, took a sip of his wine,and peered around me at Emmett. "You could say that."

"What happened? This is news to me."

"We don't - we don't keep in contact with him." Edward turned his wine glass in circles, watching it closely as the wine sloshed toward the edges of the glass, as though this act took all of his concentration.

"Why not? James is cool. Isn't he still in New York? Last I heard from him-"

"You've heard from him?"

"Yeah, let's see… last May or maybe June. He talked about you two then. What the hell happened between then and now?"

"I'm surprised you don't know." Edward sat up straight - a quick glance at me - and then continued, "James is a wanted man." He took a bite of his salad like the conversation would end there. I could tell by the way he chewed that he was losing his cool. Veins were noticeable in his temple. I touched his arm and his eyes slid toward me as he gave me a small, weak smile.

"What? What'd he do?"

"I'll tell you later."

"This is delicious, Bella." Rosalie said. "I don't normally eat steak, but this is really good."

"Tell me what he did," Emmett said. "It can't be _that_ bad."

Edward's glare seemed to suggest something to Emmett, only Emmett didn't pick up on it.

"What the hell, man? I just want to know what he did. What, did he steal a car or something?"

"Yeah. Grand theft auto."

"Nah, man, what's with the secrecy?"

Edward practically threw his fork down on his plate. "Just fucking drop it."

"He's a buddy of mine. I don't see the big deal here." His arms were outstretched and he shrugged his shoulders. He seemed insulted that Edward wouldn't open up to him.

Edward's jaw was clenched, his eyes daggers on Emmett.

"What, the guy's a clown. The way you're acting, you'd think he committed murder or something. Just spill it. Tell me, and then I'll drop it."

I let the words out that Edward couldn't say, and as I spoke, I concentrated on Emmett's face in an attempt to keep any visuals out of my head. "He attacked someone. A girl."

"Attacked? As in he beat her?" Emmett asked, his voice had gone quiet.

A part of me wanted to answer yes to that question and leave it at that. I couldn't though. Emmett was from Washington and could easily find out the truth. I shook my head.

"No," Emmett said, dragging out the "o" in disbelief. "No. Rape? Jay? He never has a problem with women. He can get anyone he wants. I don't believe it."

Edward stood up, his muscles flexing, his hands in fists. "Fucking believe it and shut up!" His face was anything but friendly and I almost feared for Emmett if he didn't drop the subject. But at this point, I wasn't about to stop Edward from jumping over the table at him.

"What?" Alice said.

"No fucking way," Emmett said. "It has to be a lie. Who's the girl?"

I stiffened and held my breath. I looked past Edward at Rosalie for something, anything. She hadn't flinched, not even a pause in her chew. Her calm eyes were on me and she gave me a slow, slight nod. I glanced at Alice who was looking at Edward. She looked worried. Jasper whispered something to her. My eyes closed involuntarily as I tried as hard as I could to control my breathing. All of this happened in a second's time, but it could have been hours, everything seemed so slow. Somehow Edward was sitting beside me again. His hand on my knee made me jump. He pulled it back. And then Edward laughed. It was a maniacal laugh I hadn't heard from him before.

"Emmett, you just don't stop, do you?" he said. "The asshole was our friend. It hits home and it hits hard so not another fucking word." Both of Edward's hands took mine under the table. He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles.

What if Emmett didn't stop pressing, I wondered. Was this it? Was everybody about to find me out? I felt I had to do something. What? Nothing came to mind - or maybe everything came to mind. Too much to make sense of.

"I'm sorry," Emmett said. "It's just shock. I can't believe it."

I stood up, holding onto my chair as my head got heavy from my sudden movement, or the topic of conversation. I brought a hand to my forehead.

"Wine," I said, trying to force a laugh. "I'm going to, um… does anybody want a… a drink?" I didn't wait for an answer. I left the table, feeling all eyes on me as if they were crawling over my body. They prickled me. I wandered, dazed, into the living room, fell into the sofa, put my head between my legs and took some deep breaths.

"Bella," Edward's whisper was right next to me. I didn't look up. His hand rested lightly on my back. "Don't worry. Rosalie changed the subject. She started talking about her tiny dog. Nobody thought anything."

That was when I faced him. "Really? Because she thinks I should tell my friends! Besides, I just got up to get drinks but there are _no_ drinks in the living room!" My voice was shaking and getting louder, uncontrollable. I stood up. "How am I supposed to explain this?" I spread my arms. "I got lost on the way to the refrigerator?"

"Hey, shh." I was on the verge of losing it and Edward knew it. He pulled me back to the sofa, tucking me into his arms. "Bella, really. Nobody knows anything. It's okay. Bathroom first, then drinks. That's it. Nothing's weird here, okay?" He pushed my hair back, kissed my head. "Everybody here loves you, sweetheart. Even Emmett and Jasper; they just met you and love you already. And Emmett didn't mean anything. Like he said, he was shocked, and he doesn't know how to act around women. That was him just being ridiculous around all the beauty. Cheese."

I laughed at that. He smiled at me. "There," he said, touching my cheek. "You're fine."

"How do you do that?"

His fingers moved from my cheek, up and around my ear. "Let's go back in there before people start questioning how long we've been gone. You okay? You ready?"

I nodded. He took my hand, bringing me back toward the kitchen. I halted, tugging on Edward's arm. "What if he apologizes? I-I don't want it brought up again. I swear to god, I'll leave if we have to talk about it again."

"He won't. I won't let him. Come on."

They were all laughing at something Rosalie had said. Edward pulled my chair out for me and I sat down, avoiding all eye contact.

"This girl and wine," he said. "She can handle all the cocktails you throw her way, but give her a little wine and she melts." He kissed my cheek. "Cheese," he said, and we both laughed. The laugh seemed real enough, and it might have been. Nobody suspected anything was wrong, except maybe Alice. She frowned at Edward as he took his seat.

"I wouldn't say she could handle cocktails any better, actually. Lightweight!" She pointed at me. "You're cut off." She pretended to slice her throat with her hand.

Edward squeezed my shoulder. I smiled relief into my plate. Nobody mentioned James and nobody questioned my failed mission for drinks. Edward's hand was on the back of my head, pulling me closer, kissing the corner of my mouth and whispered, "I can't resist your smile." And then he said louder, to everybody else, "So, what's so funny in here? What did we miss?" This time I didn't jump when his hand came to my knee, so he kept it there.

Everybody started laughing again. Jasper was the only one who could calm down long enough to explain.

"Well," he said, and took a sip of his wine. "Emmett mentioned moving here, saying how he'd obviously be welcome to live here with you." He pointed back and forth between me and Edward.

My body followed Jasper's finger right to Edward, as if his aim had a force. Edward's arm came around my shoulder.

"That's when Rosalie said that she has an extra room, and you should've seen Emmett. He turned the color of a tomato. I mean, the red on his face rivaled the tomatoes in this salad." Jasper laughed and everybody else followed. "He stuttered out something that didn't even resemble English," he said between laughs, "and when Rosalie asked him to repeat it, his stutter was worse. We still don't know what he said."

I looked at Emmett. He was red again but I couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or laughter.

"Then Rosalie told him she was joking," Jasper finished.

"I don't let strange men move in with me," Rosalie said. "I don't care how cute they are when they stutter and blush."

Laughter circled the table again. We were all laughing and it was easy.

I grabbed my wine glass, took a sip and Alice yelled, "Didn't you hear me, Bella? You're cut off!"

I glared at her over a smile, then took another sip. "If I'm cut off, you're cut off, tiny one." Then I turned to Emmett. "Are you really moving here?"

"I've been considering it," he said. "I'd get my own place, though. None of you have to worry about a leech."

"You should all move here," I said. "You would love it, Alice."

She was quiet and I saw tears pool toward the edges of her eyes.

"What is it?" I stood up and walked around the table to her. "Alice?"

She looked up at me, tears racing for her lips. "It's a good thing, Bella. We can't move. Jasper and I... we bought a place in San Francisco. We're engaged." She pulled a ring from her pocket and slid it onto her finger. "I was waiting for the right time to announce it. I guess now is as good as any." Jasper put his arm around her and kissed her cheek.

"Alice! Congratulations!" I gave her a tight hug. "You're engaged and I've never even met Jasper until now. It's been way too long."

"Yeah, it has."

I kissed her damp cheek. "Jasper," I said, turning toward him and still smiling.

He stood up. So sudden. So much taller than me. My smile was gone and I took a step back. He stepped toward me, his arms opening for a hug. I took another step back. Out of the corner of my eye, on the other side of the table, I saw Edward stand up, too. Jasper's eyes narrowed in question, his head tilted. I focused on his face. Wild, wavy hair, clean shaven, a warm smile - no smirk or sarcasm in it at all. I reached a hand out for his. He put his hand in mine, and when I didn't panic I stepped closer on tip toe and hugged him.

"Congratulations for landing the best woman in the world." I was beaming in near disbelief that I was hugging Jasper. I was _actually_ hugging him. I looked across at Edward in my glory. He was beaming, too. We both moved to the end of the table, meeting behind Emmett.

"The _other_ best woman in the world," Edward said, embracing me. He spun me around and we both laughed.

"What's going on?" Alice asked. "Are you engaged, too? Don't tell me I just stole your spotlight."

Edward and I stared at each other for a while. He set me down on my feet. "We're not engaged," I said.

"They do stuff like that all the time." Rosalie said. I could hear the smile in her voice, though I was still looking at Edward. "You'll see."

* * *

**A/N:** Please review, thank you!


	24. Chapter 24

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 24

Dishes abandoned at the table, uneaten food bits drying up and sticking to the plates, the only thing from the kitchen that had made it into the living room with us was the wine. Alice had stopped nagging me about my drinking. Apparently she'd consumed enough of her own to forget all about me.

As soon as she saw her chance, a glassy-eyed Rosalie pulled me into a back corner and started whispering.

"You and Edward handled that well at dinner." She lifted the ends of my hair as if we were teenagers and she was admiring me.

"Really?" I swept my hair over my shoulder, slipping it right from her fingers. "Because I felt like we both lost it."

She shook her head. "Considering Edward's behavior, his anger during our session together, I was surprised he had the restraint not to physically go after Emmett. You remember what happened with Tyler... And you may have felt like you were coming apart back there but it wasn't noticeable on the outside. And then with Jasper? The way you handled the hug. You've come a long way, Bella." She nodded, bringing her glass toward her lips. "You have." She took a sip.

"Thanks, Rosalie."

"The thing is, Bella, if Edward had attacked Emmett, he wouldn't have been in the right, you know. These misunderstandings are going to happen as long as you're not forthright with your friends. People aren't going to be as sensitive about the subject as you need them to be because they don't know how awfully you're affected by it. Emmett had no clue what he was doing and Edward yelling at him to shut up, that only agitated Emmett and made him more curious."

"Okay, enough psychoanalysis for tonight. You're here as my friend and Emmett likes you so let's go. I want to see him try to talk to you some more." I put an arm around her and led her to the sofa. She didn't protest when I had her sit next to Emmett. I sat across from them on Edward's lap on the floor. He pushed my hair aside and kissed the back of my neck.

We sat together watching Emmett try his best at flirting, and it seemed Rosalie found his efforts endearing.

"Excuse me, love birds," Jasper said. "Can I borrow Bella for a few? I'd like to talk to you. Alone."

Edward and I stared up at him, then I felt Edward eying me.

Jasper held up his hands. "I swear, I'll give her right back."

"It's fine," I said and stood up, following Jasper to the bedroom. Edward was behind me and he whispered in my ear.

"I'll wait right here. I won't move." I leaned my head back and kissed his chin before I went into the room, hesitantly closing the door. Once it was shut, I paused with my eyes on it, wishing I'd at least left it cracked.

Jasper sat on the edge of the bed and I was relieved to be looking down at him instead of up at him.

"Are you going to sit down?"

I shook my head. "I'll stand," I said. "You stay there. You look comfortable." It may have sounded ridiculous but I had to try to keep myself taller than him.

"Bella, I know you're Alice's best friend. She talks about you all the time. She thinks of you as a sister."

I nodded. "I love Alice, too."

"My point is, it would mean a lot to me if you approved of me. Or even liked me. I have the feeling you're wary of me. And I get that. I do. We've just met. But I want you to know that I love every last nuance of Alice and all I want to do is take care of her. I know, I know, she can take care of herself. But, everyone needs someone and I plan on being exactly the someone she needs."

I could have told him right then that I already liked him, already trusted that he loved Alice, but I decided to play with him instead. I don't know if it was the wine or the fact that I was alone in a room with him and my palms were not sweating and my heart was beating at a normal pace. I didn't even have to remind myself to breathe.

"That's kind of general, don't you think? You love every little nuance about her? What exactly do you love about her? If you love her so much, I'm sure you can be more specific."

He gave me a partial smile like he knew what I was up to. "Well, do you have a decade or should I give you the short version?"

"Decade, please."

He took a breath and glanced around the room before he began. "I love her big, giving heart and the sound it makes when it beats. I love how her hairstyle matches her personality. I love how she moves, whether she's walking or dancing. I love that she's stronger than some men while being smaller than most women. I love that she doesn't let anyone manipulate her and she can sense it from a mile away. I love that when I told her my mother doesn't give two shits about me, she said that might be better than a mother who is always up in your shit like hers. I love that when she puts on makeup, it's like art on her face. I love that she's not afraid to throw her opinions out there and how she works hard for what she wants. I love that she is loyal and trustworthy and the way she admires her brother. I love the way she clicks her tongue and shakes her head with her arms folded whenever she knows I'm about to make a mistake. I love the way she talks about her best friend and how she gets little worry lines between her eyebrows and at the corners of her eyes when she thinks about you living all the way in New York; then she replaces her frown with a grin and says you'll be fine. I love that she is always smiling and how she cries when she talks about our engagement." His own eyes started to tear up then and mine followed. I put a hand on his arm.

"Jasper, thank you. I know you knew I was joking, but thank you. Alice is lucky to have you."

He wiped his eyes and laughed, perhaps a little embarrassed. "You don't want me to continue?"

I nodded. "I do want you to continue. But I want you to say it all to Alice instead of me."

"Sure." He stood up. I stepped back.

"Wait." I averted my eyes to his shoes. I studied them long and hard, but still I couldn't describe what they looked like. Five seconds ago I was touching Jasper and now I was fighting off James.

"Bella?" He sat down again. "During dinner, you flinched and moved away from me when I stood up, just like now. It was like you thought I was going to hurt you. And when we first met, you wouldn't look at me. And ever since dinner, it seemed you've been avoiding me. Are you afraid of me?"

"No," I said and I saw him give a slight nod.

"I was wrong earlier, wasn't I? You're not wary of me being with Alice. You're just wary of me."

"It's not you. It's-it's…"

"The wine?" He stood up again and my back was pressed against the dresser. Before I averted my eyes, I saw that he didn't believe that. My head seemed to move in slow motion toward the door. All I had to do was call Edward's name. Everything around me darkened.

"Oh, god," I whispered. I told myself I could get through this, even as my heartbeat was louder than any sound I'd ever heard. _You've come back from worse_, I told myself.

"Sit down, Jasper," I said, also in a whisper, my gaze still aimed at the door.

"I'm sitting. Are you okay?"

I didn't answer. Instead I took this moment to calm myself.

"It isn't just you..." Jasper said, seeming to think aloud. "Edward was also reluctant when I asked to talk to you alone. He's right outside that door, isn't he? Before you shut it, he looked like he was standing guard. And what happened earlier... And if I were to stand up again?"

"I'll probably move away from you again." Tears filled my eyes, and this time, they weren't for Alice. Resolve washed over me. Jasper knew and there was no point in denying it.

"James?"

I clenched my jaw and wiped my tears away, my tell-tale tears. My arms wrapped my stomach.

"I'm sorry, Bella. This isn't my place. I shouldn't have - I think I was expecting to be wrong."

"I don't - I don't want to talk about it." How could I change this? How could I go back and start everything over so that Jasper wouldn't be in this room with me - knowing - imagining whatever disgusting thing he was imagining. What was he seeing? My hand moved from my stomach toward my throat.

"Let me get Edward for you. Or Alice. Would you like to talk to Alice?"

"No!" My eyes shot back to him. He'd momentarily snapped me away from the panic of possible dissociation to a new kind of panic. "Jasper. I know you don't know me and you don't owe me anything, and I probably have no right to ask you this. I understand if you can't, but please, I have to ask you not to tell Alice. I don't want to hurt her, I don't want her to worry about me, and I don't want her to see me differently. Can you understand that? I mean, I didn't even tell my family." My voice was shaking and cracking. My bones may have been shaking as well. It was either that or the floor was moving.

"Alice would only want to help you, you know?" He sighed.

"I know." My eyes fell to the circling floor.

"You're really afraid of me. I'll leave the room, Bella, but I have to stand up to do that."

"Um…" I couldn't explain why, even as gentle as he'd spoken, that sounded like a threat to me. There was a knot in my throat, and it was being tightened by James with every breath I tried to take.

"Maybe if you look at me, and watch me stand up, you won't be so scared. I'm not going to touch you, okay?"

"Okay," I said, but I still kept my eyes on the floor.

"Look at me," he said, and I heard James.

_Look at me_, James had said. And I had. And I saw his eyes, blue surrounded by red - how they'd changed so quickly from sorrow to anger. _Look at me_...

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Don't. Don't say that. Just stop!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," I heard Jasper say. He sounded far away, but my eyes were still closed and I was afraid of what I'd see if I opened them.

Jasper is not James, I told myself, practically shouting it in my mind. _Open your eyes_. I took a deep, cleansing breath and let my eyes open.

"Bella?" It was Edward. Jasper had let him in, or maybe he'd heard me yell. Jasper was still sitting on the bed. "What's going on?"

"Wait." I stopped him with my hand. "I-I had a flashback, but I'm okay. It's over."

"A flashback?" He eyed me strangely and threw a look at Jasper.

"He knows, Edward."

"You knew, and you brought her here to talk about it? Alone!"

"No, Edward. No. He figured it out while we were in here." But then I too looked at Jasper in question. How could I be certain of that? How was I sure that Jasper hadn't already worked it out? That he hadn't understood since dinner?

"I figured it out in here," he said slowly, nodding all the while with a hand out, as if calming rabid dogs.

I felt Edward's hand on my back.

"I'm okay," I said.

"Then what's this?" Edward swiped the corner of my eye with the back of a finger.

I wiped there, too. "That's gone," I said.

"Tell me what happened."

"It was every time I tried to stand up," Jasper said, and I thought about how humorous this would all seem if not for the subject - Jasper stuck like a prisoner, sitting on the bed of his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

"But her reaction to me - why me and not Emmett? He's much bigger."

"It isn't size so much that affects me like this, but the blond hair and blue-blue eyes. People like you. You're a trigger."

"So, it's the way I look that scares you?"

I attempted a look in his direction. "I wouldn't say it scares me. It's like, I know you're not dangerous. You know, logically, I know that. It's just that I get these flashbacks, and my therapist is helping me control them. I can bring myself out. But with you, because of the way you look, it just takes a little more time."

"But when I'm sitting down, you're okay?"

"When I'm the taller one, I feel less vulnerable, yes."

Jasper seemed to contemplate something for a minute before speaking again. "You're sure you don't want Alice to know?"

I nodded.

"Bella," Edward said. "If you keep reacting to Jasper like you have been, everyone's going to know."

"What do you want me to do about that? If I could control my reactions, don't you think I would?"

"I'm not blaming you. But I'm thinking. Maybe Jasper can help you."

"How?" I asked.

"They're going to be here for a week. You'll have to get used to Jasper whether he's close to you or standing up or even if you turn around and he happens to be there. Let's try something."

"Try what?"

"I think I know what Edward's getting at," Jasper said. "Would you believe me if I told you that I'd never harm you?"

I didn't think Jasper would hurt me, but I never thought James would hurt me, either. "I know that you're probably telling me the truth, Jasper, but I don't believe anybody who says that, apart from Edward."

"Let me stand up. Maybe the more I do it, and the more I'm around you, you'll get used to me. Do you mind if I stand?" Jasper asked.

He was already understanding what I needed, and I thought that maybe I could do this with him. And if he helped me overcome my fears involving him, maybe it would also help me face other men who looked similar to James.

"Edward, you have to let go of me. You touching me, it's like cheating." Without saying the words, I'd agreed to accepting Jasper's help.

Edward dropped his hand from my back.

"Go ahead," I said to Jasper.

I watched, bracing myself, as he stood up slowly and my feet stuck right where they were. We both smiled.

"It worked," I said, as if saying it aloud made it more real. Nobody countered me. Nobody told me it was only my imagination. It really had worked.

"We can keep trying," Jasper said. "I think Alice would want me to help you. I want to help you."

"Ground rules," Edward said. "Nothing sudden. Warn her before you do anything or if you're going to touch her. And never touch her without her permission. You need to understand: a flashback for Bella isn't just remembering or seeing, she _feels_ it."

"Understood. And I won't give you any more demands, Bella."

"Demands?" Edward asked.

"I told her to look at me and that's what started her uh… flashback."

Edward nodded.

"I'll keep this to myself," Jasper said. "I don't want to hurt you more than you already are, Bella. But if Alice catches on and asks, I won't lie." I thanked Jasper and he reached out to shake my hand. "Okay?" he asked.

I shook his hand, keeping my eyes on him until he was out of the room.

"Are you all right with all of this?" Edward asked.

"I think so."

He pushed both sides of my hair back and caressed just under my eyes with his thumbs. "You've been crying. More than just the tear I saw."

"Jasper really loves your sister," I told him.

"Well, he'd better. He's about to marry her."

"He does. I saw it."

Edward put his arm around my waist and I wrapped both of mine around his. "If you believe he loves my sister, then I do too."

"I believe I love you," I said, then touched his nose. That brought his lips to mine.

~::::::~

I woke up just after 1:00 am, naked in bed with Edward. I felt for his stomach and rubbed my hand over it. He turned toward me in his sleep and pulled me in tight. He opened his eyes and rubbed up and down my back with both of his hands.

"You feel good," he said, his voice deep and scratchy, and then his eyes closed and he was asleep again.

Making love had become easier for us. Easier in that we'd grown used to our techniques of getting through it without a flashback from me. Edward always looked at me as he entered, and did so slowly. Neither of us wanted to imagine what would happen if his entrance was fast and uncontrolled. He'd talk to me every so often, just to be sure I was still with him, and always through my orgasm. This had all become routine for us. It was the way it was.

Not to say that it was bad, because it definitely wasn't that. In fact, Edward talking to me, sometimes his voice matching his movements, and sometimes quiet half-words being all he could muster out, was hugely arousing.

It was our own kind of perfect, just different from most everyone else.

Too restless to go back to sleep, I kissed Edward's forehead and got up, deciding to check on our guests.

I squirmed into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans and went out to the living room. Alice and Jasper must have retreated to Edward's art room. I found Emmett asleep on the couch with Rosalie. That made me smile. I pulled a blanket out of the chest behind the sofa and covered them.

Heading toward the kitchen, I thought now was a good time to start the clean up. I remembered what a mess it was. Except it wasn't. Not anymore. It was actually cleaner than when the evening began. They cleaned it for me.

I sat down at the spotless table and thought about that night and all the drama it had brought. Before all of this with James, drama was something I watched at the college theater. Drama was the likes of Shakespeare, Edward Albee, and Tennessee Williams.

I thought about how Jasper had figured out what happened on his own and wondered if Emmett had any inclination at all of how close he was to hitting the truth on its grotesque head. I started to get that hot, panicky, heartbeat-quickening feeling again at the thought of my friends finding out. I felt claustrophobic in the kitchen, but when I went into the living room, I still felt it. I looked at the door. I hadn't been outside at night by myself in… I couldn't remember how long. Tiptoeing around I grabbed a jacket, ground my feet into some sneakers and I left, trying to get away from myself more than the apartment.

Once outside, I stood right in front of the building entrance, halfway down the steps, taking deep breaths in, filling my lungs with the cold October air. I glanced across the street and up the building where the little old lady would typically be nearly hanging out her window waving at passers-by, but of course it was too late for her. Too late for her, but not for others. People continually passing - always people out here, constant movement. I watched couples, arm in arm; hand in hand; some not touching at all. I watched a big group walking on the other side of the street in a single file line, carrying chairs, holding them up over their shoulders and resting them on their heads. I guessed it was easier than carrying a chair out in front of you. I wondered how far they'd walked and where they were going with the chairs on their heads this late at night.

My mind wandered off, creating its own scenario. They were setting up for a wedding the next day. The chairs would be placed in rows and then decorated with white silk covers and bright, autumn flowers at the end of each row. Every chair would be claimed, it's occupant's eyes smiling and glazed with tears as the bride and groom vowed to spend the rest of their years together. Maybe they would; maybe they wouldn't . Vows didn't mean much these days. My mother had taught me that. Any believer in statistics might agree. At least the couple would have this day, this one day dedicated to their marriage. One bliss-filled day, at least.

I laughed at myself and the unlikelihood of any of this being anywhere near the truth. They could have been heading anywhere with those chairs: a small concert, a lecture; the possibilities were vast and often bizarre in New York.

A man and woman approached, though remained down at the bottom of the steps. The woman, her dark eyes big and round, asked me if I needed a vacuum. She held it up. "It's cordless. You can take it anywhere."

"I'm not interested."

"It works, I can show you. Do you live nearby? $10.00 is all I'm asking."

"I said no thank you." You'll have to get your drug money elsewhere, lady.

I was just about to return to the apartment, when a tiny little blonde thing bounded up the four steps, giving me a hello as she passed. She stopped and turned around. "Hey, you're that chick that lives with the hot guy upstairs."

I nodded and then gaped at her as she pulled cigarette papers out of her pocket and started filling them with contents from a small pouch slung on her wrist. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, fourteen maybe.

"Don't worry," she said. "It's tobacco, not _marijuana_." She'd cupped a hand around her mouth and whispered the last word with a sarcastic wink.

"You roll your own cigarettes?"

"Sure, it's the only way to go. The real ones are filled with gunpowder and shit, haven't you heard?"

"No, but haven't you heard the term cancer sticks?"

"Want one?"

"You're pretty young to be smoking."

"I like it."

"Why?"

"It calms me. That's not why I started, though."

"Why'd you start?"

"It makes me seem older. Because I look young." She was so slight I was convinced I could wrap my hand around her entire upper arm.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one. How old did you think I was?"

I shrugged. "Fourteen."

"See?" She had finished rolling a second cigarette and handed it to me. I took it. I could be a smoker for one night. She lit it for me, giving the lighter a few shakes, and flicking the switch a number of times before the flame took. I inhaled, felt like coughing but wouldn't allow it, not in front of this little girl, smoking like a pro - like she'd been doing it for decades.

"I don't remember seeing you before. You live here?"

"Yeah, with my brother." She held the cigarette in her mouth while she spoke.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a dancer." She turned her head to blow the smoke out, but the breeze brought it back to my face anyway.

"What club?"

"I'm freelance. Raves, mostly. I just came from a party. Check this out." She pulled fistfuls of folded up bills from her pockets, her sloppily rolled cigarette handing from the side of her mouth.

"You dance in that?" She was wearing black sweats and a big T-shirt, a man's maybe, with the arms cut off and decorated all down the front - drawn on - with what appeared to be a black Sharpie marker.

"You look sweet," she said. "I'll spare you from showing you what's underneath. Tonight, the place I just came from? It was a 'mild' S&M place. You know, they dress in leather and take turns whipping volunteers, but that's as far as it goes - just for show - a tourist thing without the hardcore shit. Genius idea. Why can't my brother think up something like that?"

I'd been holding my cigarette by my side letting it smoke itself out, but decided to inhale one more time. I understood the calming effect somewhat. If nothing else, it gave me something to do rather than stand there in an uncomfortable silence with some teeny twenty-year-old go-go dancer.

"I gotta go. My brother, you know? He'll freak out if I'm not home before three. 'This is New York!'" She mimicked a deeper voice. "Annoying." She flicked her cigarette onto the sidewalk below. I leapt down a few steps to snuff it out, along with mine.

"Aren't you an angel?"

"You should listen to your brother," I said, thinking about all the lies parents tell their kids. They should just be honest: monsters _are_ real, they're not always strangers, and they don't only go bump in the night.

We walked up the stairs together until she parted on the second floor.

"See ya," she said.

"What's your name?"

"Jane." She turned. "What's yours?"

"Bella."

"Well, that's presumptuous isn't it?" She put a tiny hand on her tiny hip, her bony elbow sharply poking against her skin. It appeared painful.

"What is?"

"Bella, it means 'beautiful' in Italian."

"I know what it means, but I didn't name myself, did I?"

"It's fitting anyway," she said and waved. "Later, Beautiful."

I entered the apartment and it was still dark; the air was the same and so was I. Fresh air, no air - it doesn't change anything. My memories were still there. My awful secret hadn't vanished into the cool night. My throat still closed up when I attempted to swallow that secret. You can't get away from yourself no matter where you go. No. If you want to move on, grow, you have to accept who you are first.

_This is me_.

I brushed my teeth before I climbed back into bed with Edward.

"Can't sleep?" he asked. "Too much clothes." He lifted the T-shirt off of me. "That's better." His arms came around me .

"Mmm," I agreed. Skin on skin was much better.

"Where'd you go?"

"Outside for fresh air."

"You should've woken me. I'd have gone with you."

"Aw, no, you were so sleepy." I dragged my fingers down his cheek.

"You want to go back out? Go for a walk?"

A walk late at night with Edward sounded enticing. Sleep was finding its way to me though. I was comfortable wrapped in Edward's soft warmth. "Another time," I said.

"Bella, did you smoke?"

I laughed. "How did you know? I brushed my teeth."

"It's in your hair." I brought the ends of my hair to my nose and sniffed it.

"This girl from downstairs rolled a cigarette for me. She called you the _hot guy_."

He shook his head. "You went out for fresh air and then polluted it? Bella, if you ever stop surprising me, I think I'll go into shock."

"Well, better keep you on your toes then, Mr. Edward."

"Better kiss me now, Miss. Bella."

* * *

**A/N**: Reviews are appreciated. :)

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted:** www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.)


	25. Chapter 25

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted:** www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.)

* * *

Other Side Of Me

Chapter 25

"What do you think?" I asked, turning a circle in the middle of the empty apartment, my arms outspread. I faced him, dropping my arms to my side, hands retreating to pockets. Inside my winter coat and scarf, I shivered.

"It's all right," he said, going over to close the window. The intention, as the manager had explained, was to vent the overwhelming smell of fresh paint, but the open window also left the place like an icebox. Alaskan igloos had to have been warmer than this place. "It's spacious." He nodded. "That's the lingo, isn't it? A little on the normal side. It's like any other apartment. And I don't need two rooms. Unless you want to move in."

"I live with Jessica."

"Think you're gonna live with her forever? You'll move out eventually. What, you afraid of change?"

"Yes," I said, "I moved to New York City all the way from Forks, Washington because I'm afraid of change."

"Then no two bedrooms for me. If people start finding out I have an extra room, I'm fucked. You're the only person in this city I could live with." As he spoke, he moved to the kitchen area and tested the faucet. The water poured down quick and even. He shut it off.

"Because of my cunning wit?" I asked, but didn't wait for the answer. I entered the smaller of the two bedrooms. Even it was bigger than my room. I started arranging my furniture: the bed would go near the window, which would be covered with a curtain thick enough for privacy, but thin enough to let light in; my dresser against that wall across from the closet; I'd even have room for a desk. "I guess this isn't the place for you," I called. I went back to James. "But you're running out of options."

"There are always more options," he said. He reached back and rubbed his neck as if he might not have believed that and just saying it had caused his muscles to revolt. I knew how badly he wanted to be free of his current apartment - the shot plumbing, and the landlady who blamed him for the water running brown, if at all. He brought his hand down from his neck and shook his hair from his face. He looked different from just five months ago. That day he'd cut the engine on East Twelfth and I'd taken my first step as a resident on a Manhattan sidewalk, his hair had been short and his face smooth. His hair now fell below his collar, and the scruff on his face was thick enough to call a beard.

"Are you growing out your hair?"

"I'm thinking about it. Do you like it?"

"Sure. It fits you."

"Then I'll grow it."

I awoke in a pool of sweat. There wasn't a dry spot on my body. It had been a long time since I'd dreamt of James. Weeks, maybe. I couldn't technically call this one a dream though. This one occurred during the more lucid time of sleep, but before I was fully alert. This was a memory. I knew it was Jasper who had brought this memory to the outskirts of my subconscious. Seeing him, him finding out, whichever the reason, it absolutely had to do with Jasper.

Edward's heavy arm was over me. I scooted aside, careful not to wake him. I planned not to tell him about the dream - or memory, to use the more accurate word - like I hadn't told him of several others. If he awoke with me, I would tell him, but when he lay peaceful and enough time had passed, I never wanted to bring it up, never wanted it to even come to mind.

I slipped away, into the shower. As I'd passed through the living room, I had noticed Emmett was alone on the sofa. Rosalie had already snuck out. I'd stood and listened to Emmett's breathing for a moment - deep and even, soothing out there in the large, darkened living room. _Spacious_.

I shook my head.

In the shower, I didn't kid myself. I knew James and that memory wouldn't wash away as easily as my sweat. But I could fill the space between my dream-state self and my present self with enough unrelated thoughts to push that memory back to my subconscious: my enemy, now more powerful than James.

~::::::~

Of all the things to do in New York on a Saturday, Alice wanted to take the subway to Central Park and pedal around in paddle boats.

"Isn't it too cold for that?" I asked as I cooked our late noon-time breakfast. Cooking breakfast was the least I could do after they'd all cleaned for me.

Before I had begun, I noticed Emmett seemed a little mopy about Rosalie's absence. I wondered if she'd left without saying goodbye to him. Despite my efforts to get a real smile out of him, it had been just my regular clumsy-old-self that finally got him to laugh. It hadn't been the first egg I dropped on the floor that did it, but the second egg, followed by my cursing and the stomp of my foot. Emmett laughed and Edward wrapped an arm around me from behind.

"No, you can't have her," Edward had said to Emmett.

Now Edward was helping me counter Alice's boating idea.

"I don't think they're renting them anymore," Edward said. "It's already the middle of October."

"Wrong," Alice said. "I checked. And this might be the last week they're available."

With no further argument coming to mind, and acknowledging that Alice was the guest and tourist, Edward and I shrugged our shoulders at each other. Paddle boating, it was.

We wouldn't make it out of the apartment until a little after 2:00, our hold up being Alice and Edward. Though he'd given in to boating, Edward wasn't easily agreeing to take the Subway. The rest of us stood around in front of the door listening to brother and sister bicker the same argument back and forth.

"I don't ride the subway," Edward said for the third time. "We'll get a cab."

"You're so prissy."

"Call it what you want."

"Edward…" Alice said. Apparently, in the past, all she had to do was say his name to get what she wanted. She'd tried it a few times in the last five minutes already and seemed surprised that it wasn't working.

"No, Alice."

"Edward, my dear brother, I've never been on the subway. Come on. This is my chance." She smiled at him so angelically that I was surprised the corners of her teeth didn't sparkle and chime like some toothpaste commercial.

Jasper may have been right about her ability to sense manipulation in others, but it was not beyond her to perfect the art. Jasper, as usual, amused with his fiancée, laughed behind her, only to come to an abrupt stop when he caught the way Edward was looking at me. Jasper and I seemed to realize at the same time that Edward's reluctance to take the subway had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me. That was me, stopping laughter and good times in their tracks.

"It's okay, Edward," I said. "She wants to." He looked over at Jasper and they came to some sort of silent understanding with their eyes and both nodded.

"I knew I could count on you, Bella. Let's go." Alice grabbed her jacket and was the first one out the door. Jasper and Emmett followed, but Edward pulled me back.

"Bella, stay close to me, hold my hand or something. Anything that will keep you relaxed. Our friends aren't idiots and Jasper already figured it out. After last night, if anything goes wrong today, Alice and Emmett are going to know something's up." And then he kissed me before I could agree or disagree, or maybe just to help me forget the awful subject he'd just brought up. Whatever his reason, it worked.

"We're walking to the station," Alice said. "No cabs to go just a few blocks. We're going to pretend to be real New Yorkers."

"Bella and I _are_ real New Yorkers," Edward said, leading us all in the direction of the nearest station. Maybe strange, but once you've lived in New York for some time, you don't want others to assume or even insinuate that you live somewhere else. Despite its many shortcomings, New York was a place full of proud inhabitants - disregarding the fact that slews of these prideful locals weren't native to New York.

"Hey, it's Beautiful!" Jane skipped up from behind us. I wondered how many times in the last several months I may have passed her without noticing. So often, I'd walked briskly out here with my eyes downcast. I'd seen more of the cement than the people.

"Jane," I said and introduced everyone. It was astonishing to see that she was taller than Alice. She had seemed so small to me last night but I realized now that she was just very slight. So frail and waif-like, that it made her appear even tinier than she was.

"Hang on," she said, reaching into a pocket and stepping aside to drop some coins into the gloved hand of the orange-haired homeless man who'd taken up residency in the doorway of that building.

"Afternoon, Owen," she said. He waved a thanks that she didn't see. She'd already returned to us and began rolling a cigarette.

"Ah, your smoking buddy," Edward said on a laugh.

"Beautiful?" She held the cigarette out to me.

"No, and maybe you shouldn't either." It felt a little strange chastising a twenty-one-year-old, but at the same time it felt good to be looking out for someone else for a change. "It really doesn't make you appear older, Jane. It just makes you look like a little girl who smokes - it's silly more than anything."

"Well, thank you very much, Mommy Dearest. Should I eat all of my broccoli too?" She lit up, looking into my eyes as if I really was her mom and she was my defiant daughter.

"What I mean is, after talking to you for a few minutes, it's obvious you're no teenager. I mean, the way you talk, it's like you're even older than twenty-one. You don't need the show of cigarettes."

"How old? Twenty-two? I'll keep that in mind." She took another drag, brought her bottom lip out on the exhale while inhaling through her nose - the French inhale. She had everyone else laughing. "Beautiful, it might come as a shock to you, but cigarette smoke is one of the least harmful substances I put in my body. See ya."

Just as I'd gaped when I first met her, I gaped again as she pranced away in the opposite direction she'd come.

"Jane," I called. "You should listen to your brother."

She waved a hand over her shoulder, a move that could've meant she heard me, she would take my advice, or she was dismissing me.

~:::::~

The urine smells that plagued the station stairways in the heat of summer were gone. Today as we descended the steps there was the smell of damp, mildewing cement, though it hadn't rained in the last few days. In the train, we were greeted with the scent of bodies - fortunately not dead bodies, but it was an unpleasant odor nonetheless.

If anyone behaved strangely on the subway, it wasn't me. Edward and Jasper, both, were acting like a couple of over-protective body guards. Of course it was standing room only so Edward and Jasper were right by my side. Edward held my hand and his other hand held my arm.

"Do you mind if I…?" Jasper asked - a bit of a mumble only I could hear - and brought his hand to my shoulder.

I let him do it to face the challenge - though I wasn't sure there was any real challenge in it since I wasn't actually looking at Jasper as he touched me. Still my face was heating up, not in panic, but frustration. This was exactly why I didn't want people knowing about my situation. I wanted to scream at them that I was fine and I would have if I didn't know it would draw more attention to their bazaar behavior. Jasper's hand on my shoulder had already drawn the attention of Alice. I caught her looking .

"This is just like BART," she said when her eyes met mine. But then the doors slammed shut and she practically jumped out of her skin. "Well, not that part."

Emmett laughed at her.

"Wouldn't want to be caught in that, that's for sure." She glared over at the doors as if they'd behaved impolitely and needed to be taught to close with more ease next time.

When she let herself forget about the doors, her eyes made their way back to us, landing on Jasper's hand.

I wanted to tell her that if I had any say in the matter, neither Jasper nor Edward would have a hold of me like they were keeping me together, as if I would fall apart if they let go. I watched Alice tuck herself under Jasper's other arm and his lips automatically came to her head. That seemed to mollify her. She smiled.

I reached up to push his hand off my shoulder and then slid my hand down my arm so that Edward would let go. Holding my hand was enough, I was trying to tell him. He seemed to get the hint. His free hand rose to hold the bar overhead. Feeling calmer, I leaned against Edward as the train kept a rocking beat with the tracks.

Edward insisted on paying for everyone's paddle boat rental. While he stood in line, Jasper asked if I wouldn't mind riding with him.

"Sure," I said, "but Alice probably wants to ride with y-"

"My brother," she said, quickly. "If you can spare him for a few minutes, Bella. You've had him here for years now. Besides, you and Jasper should get to know each other. You're going to be like brother and sister."

"Bella," Emmett said, and I hadn't realized how quiet he'd been until he spoke. "Why don't you call Rosalie? I don't want to be the fifth wheel."

"Why don't _you_ call her?"

"I don't have her phone number."

"You slept with her on the couch and didn't even get her number?"

"You saw us?" His blush was so deep it made me blush. Jasper and Alice were cracking up.

"Who do you think covered you up?"

"Rosalie."

"Why didn't you ask for her number? She would've given it to you."

"I thought she'd leave it with me, or a card or something."

I handed him my phone. "It's under Hale, cell."

He withdrew to a distant tree to call her, his form obscured in the dark shade of its bright orange leaves. It turned out she was at the office and would meet up with him in about ten minutes. I wondered if he knew what type of office she was coming from, wondered if Rosalie had revealed her occupation. Emmett waited for her on a bench while the rest of us went to our boats. I noticed that there were plenty of other people as crazy as us, pedaling over the lake in this wind.

Jasper walked beside me over the dock, keeping in step with me.

"I'll get in first," he said.

"Wait," I said, "me first." I was feeling confident and stepped into the boat, sat down and forced myself to look all the way up at Jasper. I focused on his face, so un-James-like. He slid in next to me and we started pedaling.

"This is going to be easier than I thought," he said.

"You're easy to be around, Jasper. This is good practice for me, though, don't you think?"

"It can only help."

"I'll tell you what doesn't help, though. You and Edward going all uber-superhero on me. I'm not a child. I'm not going to break into pieces if I have to stand on my own feet in a crowd of people."

"Duly noted. No more superhero action. Got it."

"Don't get me wrong. I appreciate what you're doing for me. But I do go to school, you know. I function on my own. Besides, the crowds don't affect me as much as the one-on-one factor. Like you and me alone last night."

"I can't imagine what it must be like for you. Or Edward."

Then we both stopped talking about it and enjoyed the view. The small lake, the bridge overhead and the leaves on all the trees blowing like crazy, so much color. I rested my head back against the seat and looked up.

"New York in the fall," I said.

"Beautiful."

I asked him how he and Alice met. He said they'd met at his parents' business banquet. Alice had started interning at their investment firm after college, but since Jasper worked in a different building, they never crossed paths until that party. As her relationship with Jasper evolved, they decided to keep Alice on full-time as a broker. He proposed to her in her office a few months ago, just after she'd landed her first deal.

"Of course she could do it," he said. "She's not at all intimidated by people. She has this way about her, this persuasiveness."

"I'm familiar with her persuasive skills," I said.

"Still, the look on her face," he said. "The awe. She was shocked she'd done it, and I guess impressed with herself. I made the decision on impulse; I didn't even have a ring yet. I got down on my knee, though."

"I'm sure it was perfect."

I asked him about something he'd said last night. Why he thought his mother didn't care about him. It seemed she'd cared enough to keep his girlfriend in the business.

"Mrs. Whitlock," he said, his voice trailing off. "I'm surprised she doesn't make me call her that, to be honest. She's one of those carbon-copy richie-rich types. The only thing she cares about is her image. They're not all like that. My dad's not. But she'd drag her whole family, even herself, through the mud as long as she came out looking brighter, more glamorous. I think 'glamorous' is her favorite word."

I couldn't say why, but somehow, thinking of Jasper's mother and her wealthy image brought me back to that night at the penthouse art show. People spending tens of thousands on art pieces because someone powered by truckloads of money decided to hang it on his walls and have a party. I was brought back to that last night of regular James. I felt the all-too familiar burning behind my closed eyelids, and tightened them. I reminded myself what Rosalie had taught me: not everything had to bring up memories of James, and that there never really was a 'regular' James. And this, Jasper's mom, had nothing to do with James. _Separate your current life from James_, I told myself - always so much easier said than done.

"Well," I said, opening my tear-free eyes, looking over at Jasper, "my mom is far from rich and she couldn't care less about her family either. She still thinks she's a teenager - childless. The last time I saw her was about five years ago at my high school graduation. She flirted with my dad relentlessly - hurt him all over again, just so she could feel better about herself. She couldn't be bothered to come to my college graduation, and that was just fine with me." _Edward was there_, I thought. I hadn't seen him but he was there. I smiled to myself. This was one of those smiles that Rosalie told me about during my first session. The kind that were just for me. I wasn't logging them regularly because I didn't always recognize every one. I would log this one.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing, just thinking, is all." I closed my eyes again and let him do the pedaling. He was doing all the work anyway, my legs were just following along.

"There's something calming about you, Bella. Everything you've been through, and you're not afraid to live. Some people haven't been through jack and life scares the shit out of them. It scares the shit out of me sometimes, which is why I put my hand on you on the subway. You didn't even need it. And, just now, when you were telling me about your mother, there was no bite in your voice at all. Like, that's just the way she is and you don't even hold it against her. The way you said it, you may as well been telling me about how she used to bake you cookies."

I wanted to tell him that the thing that scared me most - more than the flashbacks or strangers or blond men - was that James may have changed me forever. I was determined not to let that happen, which was why I couldn't cower in a corner away from life and why I kept pushing my own boundaries. But I didn't tell him, didn't want to bring James into the conversation again. Keep James out of my present as much as possible.

"I can see why Alice loves you," he said.

"I see why she loves you, too."

Our thirty minutes were up and we headed back for the dock. Jasper got out first and reached his hand out for me. I grabbed it without so much as a flinch, but I was aware that I avoided eye contact. Once I was standing on the dock, I aimed a look at him and smiled. He smiled back.

"You're fine," he said. He leaned closer to me and nudged my arm with his.

Alice came up and pulled him away. "You two are pretty cozy, I see. Your boyfriend's behind me, Bella." She smiled and winked at me to let me know that my _coziness_ with Jasper didn't really bother her. But I knew her well enough. I could tell by the sound of her voice that she wasn't _that_ nonchalant about my new friendship with Jasper.

"Why are you all wet?" I asked. Her hair was drenched and flat against her head.

"Edward splashed me, that fool." She worked her fingers through the ends of her hair to get them spiky again. "That water is freezing."

Jasper took his jacket off and wrapped it around Alice.

I felt a kiss on my head and turned to see Edward as wet as Alice. Apparently she'd taken out revenge.

"You're crazy," I said.

"It's Alice," he said.

"Right. I suppose you want my coat?"

He laughed. "Keep your coat. I'll be fine once we're in a cab."

We joined Emmett and Rosalie at their bench. They were holding hands, but dropped them as soon as they saw us approach. I wondered why they wanted to keep their attraction a secret when it was so obvious.

* * *

**A/N**: Reviews are appreciated.


	26. Chapter 26

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**_The Other Side of Me_ discussion thread at Twilighted:** www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=9891

Follow me on twitter: believitornott (I update my writing progress and any delays that might come up.)

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 26

"Do you believe we were meant for each other?"

"Of course." He smiled as he answered.

"You don't think there's anyone else out there for either of us?"

"What are you asking, Bella?" His smile sank into a frown. "I'm sure about you. Decision made. Done." He leaned into the table, glanced over at the dance floor where the rest of our friends were, and then back to me. "Are you not sure?"

"No, I'm sure. Positive."

"Okay, but don't scare me like that."

"It's just, what if we'd never met? If there's only one person for everyone, what about those people who never meet their _one_?"

"I don't know about anyone else. But what I do know is that I will thank God or the universe or the energies floating around for bringing me to you or you to me.

"Life before you was…" he sat back "...fine. I was happy enough. But life after you is _extraordinary_. I wouldn't give you up for anything. I wouldn't want to live without you."

My breath caught and my heart quickened hearing that. "I couldn't live without you either, Edward. Nobody knows that more than I do. That's not what I mean, though. I just mean, why _us_? Do you ever think about where we would be if we never kissed that day in the coffee house - felt our first spark, or flame or high or whatever?"

"No. I don't want to think about that. That's depressing." He took a long sip of his drink.

I thought about it, then. If he had never kissed me that day, proposed the tour, taken me all over Manhattan, where would we be now? Friends? And me, untouched by James? Was James the trade for this kind of happiness, this kind of love? The worst kind of pain for the best kind of love? Is that how the world works? Is that what fair means? The others. The ones who don't meet their "one" - is it because they never endured a pain as deep as mine?

"What are you thinking?"

"Love and trade. The price of happiness. Tit for tat, you know, pain and pleasure." I flinched at that.

"Bella…" He reached across the table for my hand. "Sweetheart." He rubbed my fingers. "What's done is done." He nearly whispered the words. I had to read his lips to hear him over the music. He saw me straining and raised his voice. "Don't think about what might have been or might not have been. We'll never know. There are too many possible outcomes, but this is ours. This is what we have. This is us." He brought my hand to his lips and spoke against my knuckles. "This is us. We can't change our circumstances."

"I don't want to change it. I just feel bad for those who never get their 'Edward.' Those unlucky in love."

"Only you would feel guilty about being happy. Don't you think you deserve some happiness?"

"I don't want it to be a trade though. I can't think of the world being that way. Life."

"Just let it be. Let it happen. Let it sweep you up. I'm here for you, let me sweep you off your feet. I want to."

I smiled at him, laughed a little. He smiled back and tugged on my hand still in his. "Come on. Dance with me."

I shook my head.

"Dance with me." He stood up, still holding my hand and gave my arm another tug.

I shook my head again.

He pulled me to my feet, wrapped his arm around my waist. "Dance with me."

I felt his breath, warm on my cheek, and that was all it took. I followed him to the dance floor. He held me close, moved me slow, lifted an arm, leading me into a slow spin. I let out a nervous laugh, and then he tucked me into him, his hand on my head, holding me against his chest, and just swayed.

"How does this feel, Bella?"

"Right. It feels right." I put both my arms around his neck and relaxed, listening to his heart. I felt in tune to it, like we were dancing to its beat. He bent down to lay a kiss on the curve of my neck.

"It feels unbelievable," he said.

We danced close and slow like that even though the songs were fast. Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned and wasn't expecting him to be there, a footstep away. I backed up into Edward, almost tripping, but he caught me.

"You're okay, Bella."

"What do you think?" Jasper asked, holding his hand out. I smiled and nodded.

Edward kissed my cheek and placed my hand in Jasper's.

We weren't dancing close like Edward and I had. Jasper and I were like eighth-graders. There was space between us, a line I wouldn't cross - neither of us would cross - but his hand held firmly at my waist, his other hand in mine. "When you first saw me, you-"

"Panicked."

"And now, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine." I was looking right into his blue eyes and no flashback at all. "But my theory is wrong. Thank God."

"What theory?"

"That you have to go through something awful to find something beautiful. You and Alice, what you have is beautiful and, well, I hope to God she hasn't been through anything close to what I've been through."

He shook his head. "No, she hasn't. And look at Emmett and Rosalie; they already have a connection. Which is a near-miracle considering he couldn't even talk to her at first."

I looked over at the two of them, dancing, looking like they belonged together, smiling at each other as if no one else was on the dance floor. They were alone.

"Yeah, but Rosalie has-" I came to an abrupt stop, both my voice and my feet.

"Has what?"

"Has… to wait for Emmett. He lives on the other side of the country."

"Something tells me he'll be making a move here sooner than expected. You still doing all right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"This is only the first day. I'm beginning to think you don't even need my help."

"That's only because I know you're around, I'm prepared, and I've kept myself on alert. For the most part. If you being this close was unexpected, I'm sure you'd see just how much help I need. Like yesterday."

"Do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make excuses for your strength."

I looked down at the floor shaking my head.

"Lets go get a shot," he said. "Celebrate."

"What did you have in mind?"

He told me it was my choice. I said that my friend Jessica always orders Kamikazes. He wondered if I knew what a Kamikaze could do to me.

"How much damage can one shot possibly do?" I asked, following him through the crowd of dancers to the bar. Someone danced right into me and pushed me against Jasper. He caught my hand, steadied me, and continued on.

"Oh, I forgot, no more superhero stuff. You just let me know if you need anything." He dropped my hand just as Alice approached us and she eyed the release of our hands with a frown that didn't go away.

"What's up with you two? "

"We were just dancing," I said as Jasper simultaneously said, "Getting a shot."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "Meanwhile, Edward and I are alone at the table watching you. Just, get your shots and join us, won't you?" She went back to our table where Edward was waiting. I caught his eye through the crowd.

"Did she seem mad to you?" I asked Jasper. "She has to know there's nothing going on between us, right?"

"No way," Jasper laughed at my presumption, then ordered our Kamikazes. We clinked glasses and drank our shots. But really, it was Jasper who drank his whole shot and me who only drank half. He called me a cheater.

"This is a big glass!"

"I tried to warn you."

I told him to order another one for himself and we'd do it again. Since I was nearly half his size it only made sense. He seemed to understand my logic and ordered another one. Except he also ordered another one for me, which meant he needed a third one to even things out between us. Who knows whose math we ended up following, but eventually, we decided enough was enough and wandered back to the table together. I used his arm to balance myself a couple of times before we found our destination. I say "found" because we took a wrong turn, ending up at a table similar to ours, but with nobody in it we recognized. We blinked at them and they stared at us until we turned and left. By the time we made it to the correct table, Rosalie and Emmett were there, too.

"Jasper, it's all the right people!" I sat down next to Edward and looked up at Jasper. We both laughed.

I scooted over in the booth and pulled Jasper down next to me.

"Jasper and I were just talking about love and luck," I said, then turned to Edward. "Or was that you and me?"

Edward laughed. "That was you and me, Bella. I don't know what you and Jasper were talking about, but I suspect it had something to do with alcohol."

That made me laugh harder than before. For some reason, that was the funniest thing I'd heard all night. I turned to Jasper, still laughing.

"How did he know that? He knows everything, Edward does, _every-thing_. And he can do anything, can't you, Edward?" But I patted Jasper's arm instead of Edward's which made Jasper laugh right along with me.

"I meant you," I said, facing Edward. The real Edward. He was looking at me with a small grin on his face and some sort of amused twinkle in his eye. "Hey, that's the way Jasper looks at Alice."

Edward shook his head. "It's the way _I_ look at _you_."

"Wow," Alice said to me, "you can't seem to get Jasper off your mind, can you?"

"What about luck and love, Bella?" Rosalie asked.

"Ah, beautiful, beautiful, brilliant Rosalie Hale. Edward and I were talking about luck and love, but it was Jasper and I who decided that we are all lucky here. All of us." I made a swoop with my arm to include everyone at the table. "That's right, even you and Emmett. Right, Jasper?"

He nodded. "That's right."

"Bella," Edward said.

"What?"

"Bella," Edward leaned closer to whisper, "you're embarrassing Rosalie."

I would have apologized, but Alice interrupted. "It looks like you're the luckiest of all of us." Although the words themselves seemed nice, her tone of voice stung. Edward stiffened next to me which confirmed my thoughts. I looked at her and frowned.

"What do you mean?" That's when I noticed she was sitting across from Jasper, not next to him. "Alice, you're all alone over there."

"Exactly."

"Jasper." I pushed on his arm. "Go sit by her."

"Does Jasper do your bidding now? You're the one who pulled him down next to you."

"What? Jasper, go sit by Alice." He started to get up.

"No," Alice said. "You stay right where you are. You look comfortable. Don't get up on my behalf."

He sat back down.

"Alice," Edward said.

"What!"

He didn't answer. Nobody spoke.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked Edward.

"No, Bella. You just, how much have you had to drink?"

"Well… I ordered one Kamikaze, but I never should have had the last two-three." I held up some fingers.

"Four?"

"Don't blame me," I said. "Jasper over here had five."

"Six," Jasper said. "You kept saying we had to make it even, but nowhere in school did I ever learn that four equals six."

"It's about size, Jasper. You're bigger than me. You have to take that into consideration, you big dork." I tried to hit his arm again but slipped and fell against him, where I proceeded to laugh.

"You need coffee," Edward said and signaled for the cocktail server. "Anybody else?" Everybody thought coffee was a good idea.

My head started to clear up a little bit after my first few sips. I leaned into Edward.

"You're having fun," he said.

"Yes, I am."

"Why shouldn't she be having fun, Edward?" said Alice. "She's drunk as hell and you and Jasper treat her like a god-damned fucking princess! The Bella I knew wouldn't have stood for that. She hated prissy girls. She used to make fun of me when I acted that way."

"That's right," I said. "I don't like that. I don't like that at all. Jessica does that sometimes." I made a face like I'd taken a shot of straight vodka.

"Well, Bella, darling, maybe you should look in a mirror."

I touched my face.

"Alice, she doesn't mean anything by it," Jasper said.

"Oh, here we go." Alice threw up her arms. "You two just stop talking to me." She pointed at Jasper and me.

"Wait. Are you saying that I'm a prissy princess?" In my Kamikaze-induced state, it took longer than normal to process English. "After everything I've been through, Edward treats me like I'm special. Even when I felt hideous and disgusting. Is that bad?"

"It is when you take advantage of it the way you do. And when the hell have you ever felt hideous? What does that even mean?"

I looked at Edward. He was just shaking his head and he whispered, "She doesn't know what she's saying."

"Hey, I am not the drunk one," Alice said. "I know exactly what I'm saying. Your innocent girlfriend is the one who isn't making any sense. And you can't do enough for her. You're going to break your back bending over for her."

Was that it? Was that what Alice was talking about? "You mean because he reassures me?"

"Yes! Back in Forks, you never needed reassurance from a guy. Whenever Jake tried anything like that you'd dropkick his ass. Now you're looking for it, seeking it out, in your boyfriend and _mine_. It seems you knew yourself better when you were a teenager than you do now."

I brought my hand to my forehead and shook my head. "Hmm, if your best friend can't tell you the truth, who can? Well, I need it now, okay, Alice? I'm a weak, sorry human being now and Edward keeps me from falling over the edge. Rosalie wants me to believe it's me, but I know it's Edward."

"What edge? You're drunk. You're not making any sense. What does Rosalie have to do with this?"

Rosalie interrupted. "Okay, now, I think we should all just calm down. More is involved here than you or I know, Alice. We all need to discuss this later - preferably when all parties are sober."

I drank some more of my coffee, looked across the table and glared at Alice, who was glaring right back.

"Well, aren't we a big happy family? Here we are. Me, the basket case; my boyfriend who treats me too _princess-y_; his sister visiting from across the country and who apparently hates me, or hates who I've become; my doctor… the only person missing to complete this circle of madness is James."

"Bella," Jasper and Edward said at the same time. Edward's hand fell to my back, protecting me from myself now.

"Your doctor?" Emmett asked. "Where?"

I rolled my eyes at him and drank some more coffee. I had to sober up. This conversation was not getting any better.

"You've had some drinks, too," Jasper told Alice, late in suggesting to her that she might also be drunk. Alice got up then and headed to the door by herself. Jasper followed her.

Edward tossed a ticket toward Emmett. "Mind grabbing our coats? We'll catch up with you."

As soon as we were alone in the booth, Edward's arms were around me and his lips were against my face. "Bella, you can't say that. You've come so far, and it's because of you, not me. Maybe I'm too much. I'm here for you, but if I'm smothering you, you tell me."

I held him, too. "You're not. I love that you touch me and reassure me. Maybe the old Bella wouldn't have, but this one, the one I am now, does. I might be weak or a princess or whatever-the-fuck. But I love you just like this. Don't change."

"I won't." He kissed my lips. "Just admit for me that you're strong, not weak. Look at today, you and Jasper. Alice doesn't know. She doesn't know."

"Before people know what happened, they see me as weak, and after they know, I'm strong. Which is it? Which is the real me?"

"Strong, Bella. Believe that."

"But Alice is right. I'm nowhere near who I used to be. I can't deny that. She just thinks I'm acting like this because I'm spoiled."

He held my chin and kissed me gently. Kiss after kiss. "I'd spoil you anyway. You were having so much fun. I wish tonight didn't end like this for you."

"It's my own fault."

He shook his head. "You know, of all the things Alice said, picturing you dropkicking Jacob had to be the highlight of my evening." He smiled at me, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, we were friends for so long, I guess we just lost respect for each other. We fought more than we got along toward the end. And Alice was right, I never would've let him get away with what you do - holding me so tight, or speaking up for me. But he never made me feel the way you do. I don't want you to stop. I really don't."

He kissed me once more. "Go on. Finish your coffee." He put the cup in my hand. "They're waiting for us."

We joined our group outside. Rosalie took a separate cab. She gave Emmett a peck goodbye. Maybe it would have been more than a peck if I hadn't opened my big mouth in the club. Alice was standing next to Emmett, refusing to look at Jasper or me. She wouldn't speak to us in the cab either, nor would she let Jasper touch her at all. She was sitting between Jasper and Edward. I was on Edward's lap and Emmett was in the front seat. We were lucky the cab driver didn't notice how many of us got in back. I was trying to keep myself small so he wouldn't kick us out.

Alice didn't say a word as we walked up the four flights of stairs, or when we got into the apartment.

I broke the ice.

"Alice, why are you mad at Jasper? There is nothing at all between Jasper and me."

"Bella, don't bother. I saw you two all day long. Every time I wondered to myself, 'Where did Jasper go?' he was with you. And you were always looking at each other, sharing some private moment. I couldn't stomach it. I don't know what's going on. I don't understand it, but something is up."

"Seriously, you two," Emmett said. "This little best friends thing you have going on is pretty disrespectful to Alice and Edward."

"It's fine," Edward said.

"Edward, open you eyes," Alice said and laughed. "I saw it, Emmett saw it. I wouldn't think Bella would cheat on you, but Bella, you've changed. I've seen it today. It's like you need attention or something. You're someone else."

"Alice, please stop saying that," I said.

Edward caught my eyes and looked at me as he spoke. "Alice, you're jumping to conclusions."

She ignored him. "And Bella? Dancing with Jasper? Really? You didn't even dance at prom with that lifetime boyfriend of yours. Edward kept saying I was imagining things, that he trusts you. He cares _that_ much about you and this is how you treat him? You may have gotten away with treating Jake like that, but not Edward. Not my brother."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Edward said, his hand at my hip. "You need to stop, Alice. Now!"

"Alice," Jasper said, stepping toward her, reaching for her.

"You stay back," she said, holding out her hand. "You don't even want me to turn my attention on you right now." Jasper looked at me.

"You know how much he loves you," I said to Alice. "I've known him for two days and I see it. He was just trying to help me."

"Help you what, Bella? What were you trying to help her with, Jasper? Her self-esteem?" She had tears in her eyes now and so did Jasper. I exchanged a glance with Jasper. His jaw clenched and he ran a hand through his hair. He seemed conflicted between telling her the truth and keeping his promise to me.

"See, that, right there!" Alice said. "Don't tell me you didn't catch that, Edward. They just shared something. They both look guilty."

I squirmed away from Edward. "All right, Alice! Okay… all right. All right. Alice, Emmett," I paused for a long time, looking between them. They waited. "Sit down, I have to tell you something." I swallowed. My stomach felt suddenly empty, or just gone. I brought my hands to it.

"Just tell me," Alice said. "I'm not sitting down." Her arms were folded across her chest and her lips were pursed. She looked like she was preparing herself for something. Something bad, but she had no idea. I went over to her, put my hands on her shoulders and forced her to sit down on the sofa. Emmett was already there.

I took a deep breath and then another one. I paced the room a couple of times, my head dizzy as I eyed the floor. I stopped and faced Alice.

"First of all, you should know this is my fault. Not Jasper's. I made him promise he wouldn't tell you. And it's not what you're thinking, so just stop thinking for a minute. And Emmett-" I turned to face him. "Whatever I say, don't feel bad. You had no idea. There was no way you could've known."

Edward came to me, turning my face toward his, and mouthed, "Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"Do you want me to tell them?"

I shook my head and pulled away from him.

"Known what?" Emmett asked. "Oh shit, is Rosalie married?"

I didn't even acknowledge that, didn't let it derail me from the real subject at hand. "Last night, at dinner, what we talked about?"

"What did we talk about?" Emmett asked.

I held his gaze, hoping he would figure it out on his own.

"Bella, would you just tell us what you have to say?" Alice said, her arms still folded across her chest. "Stop speaking in code. You're making it worse."

"Alice," Jasper said, and she shot him a glare so strong it made him step back.

"I swear to fucking God, Bella. If you don't tell me right now, I'm going to walk out that door and catch the next flight to San Francisco."

"I'm the one! I'm the one that James attacked." I took another deep breath as my hand flew to my forehead and then pushed through my hair. I couldn't look at anyone. My eyes closed and opened a few times, slower than blinks. Darkness and light, as if on a train passing through shadows.

"He was my best friend and he-he… he…" Even though I couldn't say rape - that word was worse than vomit to me - the rest started flowing out of me. "He did that to me. And he told me what you said, Emmett. He said he could have any woman he wanted, why not _me_?"

I felt Edward take a step toward me and I held out a hand to keep him where he was. I had to get through this. "And then Jasper, with his hair and his eyes, and tall, just like James. He's a trigger for me - flashbacks. I can't help that. I wish I could, but I can't. I was starting to get control of them. I had them under control, but being in such close proximity to Jasper and any surprising movements, I just couldn't help it. Once he figured it out, he offered to help me overcome the trigger, and it was working so well today, and that's why we've been so close. That's it, Alice, and I'm sorry."

Alice's chin was quivering. She brought a hand to her mouth and tears poured from her eyes over her hand. She let out a sob, then took a few deep breaths before she spoke.

"Last night. At-at dinner, you, you left the room." She pointed a shaky finger at me. "I thought something was up but then you came back like n-nothing was wrong." Jasper was next to her in an instant, holding her and she didn't resist. Emmett's hands were covering his face and he was shaking his head.

"I'm such an asshole," he said. "Edward was trying to shut me up but I just didn't get it."

"You couldn't have, Emmett. Don't be hard on yourself. I was the one who decided not to tell anyone.

"And Alice, you were right, I have changed. But I'm trying. So hard. To just be myself - someone I recognize."

She shook her head at me, her eyes apologetic. I told them if they wanted to do anything for me, not to feel sorry for me. Or if they had to, to please hide it from me. I was trying my best to be me and I didn't need them reminding me of my pain.

Alice wiped her tears. "When?"

"In June. Right after Edward and I started… and Edward was there - he stopped him." That was when I finally looked at Edward. How had I forgotten that this had nearly as much of an impact on him as it did me? When he tried to touch me, hold me, he was doing it for his own comfort as well as mine, and I kept pushing him away. I went to him and pulled him down into my arms, rubbed the back of his neck with my hand. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Why is she apologizing?" Alice asked, coming up from behind me and wrapping her arms around both Edward and me.

Edward shook his head against my shoulder. It barely moved because I was holding his neck so tightly. "She just does that. She won't stop. No matter how much I tell her not to apologize, she just does." He gave a little laugh and kissed my neck. "I love you, Bella. I love you."

Emmett and Jasper came up and joined our group hug. I was in the middle of it all, being squeezed left and right, front and back, and instead of panic, I felt loved.

That night, Alice climbed into bed with me, faced me and hugged me. She whispered how sorry she was. She wished I'd told her sooner; she wanted to be there for me; she would try hard not to feel too sorry for me even though it made her sick to think about it. She also apologized for accusing me of trying to steal her fiancé's attention, and even considering that I was capable of cheating on Edward. She kept on talking, apologizing, and I just kept listening. Finally, the apologizing stopped.

I was on my back staring at the ceiling. The room glowed amber from the dim, side-table lamp. We had it on its lowest setting.

"Are you still drunk?" she asked, her voice rippling through the silence that had settled over the room.

"I don't know. Probably."

She gasped. "Oh! I forgot, I have something for you. Wait here." She leapt toward the door.

"Where would I go?" I was wearing nothing but a t-shirt, and the bed was too comfortable to move from.

When she returned, she carried a square gold box in her hand, tied with a thin gold rope. "Open it," she said, handing it over.

I untied the rope and removed the lid.

"From Ghirardelli Square," she said. "Try some. These are my favorite." She took a lumpy round one and offered it to me. We shared the chocolate, shoving them one after the other into our mouths. We lost count of how many we'd eaten - or maybe we never bothered taking count in the first place.

"Remember the day we met? At school?" Her mouth was full, the chunk of chocolate pushing and bulging against her cheek. "You ran into me."

"No, I didn't. You ran into me. You came around the corner too fast."

"Nope. You had your head in a book. If you were looking up, you wouldn't have run into me."

"Well, you _were_ looking up, and you still ran into me."

We laughed.

"We were always laughing," she said.

"Constantly."

"What was so funny all the time? That funny?"

"You."

"Me? When?"

I placed the lid unevenly over the chocolate box and settled down to rest on my elbow.

"For example, remember that time? It was the three of us - you, me and Jake. Jake was driving us to some party out near First Beach. You kept insisting that he was going the wrong direction, and he kept arguing, getting more and more angry. But you wouldn't let it go."

"He said he knew that area like the back of his hand," she said.

"But you got to him so bad that he pulled over, moved to the backseat, and told you to drive. And what did you do? Turned the car in the opposite direction and found the party. You said, 'Like the back of your hand? Looks like you need to get better acquainted with your hand.'"

"We couldn't stop laughing!"

"Jake hated us for that. He probably would've offered us a million dollars to stop laughing at him."

She took my hand in hers. "I miss you, living so far away…"

"I know."

"I'm sorry he hurt you," she said and touched my face.

I swallowed. "No more sorries." I shook my head over and over.

"I heard what you said in the living room. I won't talk about it anymore."

I was unsure of how to respond to that. Was it right to force my best friend into silence over something she must have needed to talk about - something she must have had questions about? I hadn't a clue what was right or wrong. I only knew that I couldn't say to her: "Go ahead. Talk to me if you want. Ask me a thousand questions. Tell me how you feel." So, instead I said, "Thank you."

"And forget about what I said about you changing. I was wrong. When have I ever been right, if you think about it? I thought I was going to be an interior designer most of my life. I didn't even know how great I was with numbers until my second year of college."

Edward came in then, a stream of light following him from the living room until he closed the door.

"May I have my bed and my Bella back, now?"

I rolled over to face Edward. He brought his fingertips down my arm. "Hey."

"Hi." I reached my hand out for him.

"No." Alice turned me back toward her and hugged me tight.

"All right, Alice," he said, "but I'm going to bed and I'm sleeping with Bella." I heard him take off his shirt and pants and he slid beside me, spooned me from behind, kissing my neck and my ear. I nestled against him and reached back to put my hand on his face, letting him know I wanted him there.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you, too," Alice said and we all laughed. Then she got up and left us alone. "I can take a hint."

"What hint?" Edward called after her before she closed the door. "I thought I was pretty straightforward about what I wanted," he said to me, cocooning me in his arms.

"What is it that you want?"

"You. What else is there?"

* * *

**A/N**: Reviews are appreciated.


	27. Chapter 27

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

I'm finally back, and I apologize for the extensive absence. To make a long excuse short: as this story comes to a close, I have to make sure my mind is in the right place before completing it. I'm getting there. I thank any of you who are continuing to read. Hopefully you still remember me.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 27

We didn't make love that night. We waited until the next morning, barely awake, lips on lips, even before thinking. Then Edward's hand cupping my ribs, my waist, my hips, down around my thighs. His fingers on my breasts, my shoulders, my back. We hurried out of our clothes, me shifting while Edward slipped my panties down my legs and off the ends of my toes. Caution circled this maneuver, even in our rush. I'd taken one side of the bikini strap with my thumb, moving it along my thigh just in case any bit of me needed reminding that I wanted this. It seemed, however, that no part of me needed reminding.

Our clothes were gone, who knew where, things of the past, a former whispered weight that no longer mattered. I reached for his hands, placing them back on my body, and sought his lips with mine. And as he came toward me, naked, beginning his usual careful entrance, I pulled hard on his waist in my impatience for him and he entered fast and almost rough for the first time.

Instantly and predictably, there was James behind my closed eyes and clenched teeth. My eyes nor my teeth would open or even relax, though I tried.

"Bella? Bella?" Edward's voice was quiet but frantic and he was still inside of me. "Bella, God, Bella, tell me you're okay."

There was distant, tunneled rustling, while behind my eyelids in a void of black I fought with James, or relinquished fighting. He was too strong, too heavy. But I was sure that a second ago I had heard Edward's voice.

Something hard and cool touched the end of my nose, and Edward's voice was back. "Smell this."

I took a sniff, a deep inhale. The rich scent of chocolate.

"Bella." His breath was soft on my cheek and I opened my eyes, and there were his in the morning light. As green as the new day.

He had plucked one of the last few chocolates abandoned by Alice and me from the box on the bedside table. As he saw me looking back at him, my eyes clearly seeing him and not James, he tossed the chocolate back on the table, unconcerned with where it landed.

"Tell me you're okay," he said, his eyes full.

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I said, though the shaking of my voice failed even to convince myself of that. Becoming more and more aware of the present, I noticed how deep my fingers were digging into the small of Edward's back.

"I'm going to pull out now. Don't move," he said.

"No." I held him firm against me, though flattening my hands. I rubbed a little bit, hoping I hadn't hurt him.

"Bella, I have to. After what just happened, we can't-"

"Yes we can. _He_ can't, Edward. He can't win. He can't beat us."

"Beat us? He won't. But we can't potentially make this worse for you. Rosalie said - _you_ said - that if you ever… dissociate-" his voice quieted on dissociate and his fingers rounded my ear as if that term really was synonymous with crazy "-while we're, while we're making love, that we have to stop. We have to."

I knew he was right. I'd lost all my desire anyway. My insistence on continuing had become merely an attempt to fight against an invisible James, a fight against the power his body over mine - essentially his ghost - continued to hold over me. I released Edward and let him pull out. He left slow, and he left me empty and cold. I tried to turn away from him.

"Don't." He kept me facing him, tucking me into his shoulder. "We're still here. Just you and me. That's all that matters, remember? We're together. Don't turn around."

As it became clear to him that I wasn't going to turn, his arms relaxed and his breathing evened out. I inched my head down to his chest, listening to his calm, even heartbeat. We were both silent for so long, I thought he might fall asleep again. But then he spoke and his voice, deep and echoing through his chest, seemed to literally come from his heart.

"Last night, that was so brave, Bella. I watched you. Not one tear. And you didn't need me. You told them. All on your own."

His fingers moved up and down my back. They felt good.

"I have to tell you what happened with Emmett while you were in here with Alice."

"Something happened?"

"Emmett cried. I've never seen him cry. I've seen him blush; I've seen him stutter; I've seen him embarrassed, mortified, angry as hell. But I've never seen him cry. He felt awful about what happened, how he wouldn't drop the subject at dinner. He doesn't understand how I resisted kicking the shit out of him or how I had let James live. I told him neither do I, on both points."

"Unbelievable, isn't it? How many people my situation hurts."

"Of course it does. If it affects you and me, it affects everyone who cares about us. Even though James hurt you the worst, he hurt us all." He hugged me tight again. "But you're getting through it."

Sometimes it was easier to believe that I was getting better. This moment was not one of those times. Edward believed it though, and I was grateful for that. I squeezed him to me. _Closer, Edward._

"You've believed in me the whole time. You wanted me when I was at my worst. You still want me." If we can make it through this, we can make it through anything, I reminded myself for the hundredth time.

"Always," he said.

~::::::~

Throughout the next week school kept me from accompanying Edward and our friends on their daily outings around New York. I couldn't join them until the evenings. Rosalie came along in the evenings too.

She knew that I'd told my friends about James. She also knew that telling them had been inevitable after what had happened at the club on Saturday night. During my Tuesday session, she'd said that I was and had been moving in the right direction since the day it happened to me.

"Yeah, what direction is that?" I'd asked her, because to me, my direction often seemed like circles or spirals. There was no straight line that I could see.

"The one that keeps you going, Bella. Listen," she sat forward in her chair, "when I was sixteen I took driver's training and our instructor had us drive up this windy canyon. One girl in my group would stop for birds in the road, afraid she'd run them over. It seems silly, I know, but she even had me worried about the birds. She'd honk until they moved out of the way and I started pointing a few out to her. 'There's another one.'" She mimicked her teenage voice and laughed. "We drove our instructor crazy. 'Just drive,' he said. 'They're birds, they'll fly away on their own. You won't hit them.' He had to promise her that she wouldn't hit them before she would try it. But for you, Bella. You're driving and it's like you already instinctively know that anything obstructing your way will move. You're not braking. That's the direction you're going."

I thought I was more curving around my obstacles. Or crashing through them. But maybe Rosalie was right. Maybe eventually everything would move aside.

When all of us were out together, Rosalie spent a lot of time wandering off with Emmett. Just the two of them somewhere, somewhat alone. As alone as they could be in New York, while constantly surrounded by people. I wondered if she'd told Emmett that she was my doctor.

On Wednesday I got my answer. Edward had his therapy appointment that afternoon, and Emmett had decided to give Jasper and Alice some time on their own. So when I got home from school, tossing my backpack on the sofa, it almost landed right on Emmett. He had to block it from hitting him in the chest. I gasped.

He started to apologize for startling me, but I stopped him with a shake of my head. There was no way I would let anyone apologize to me for simply sitting on the sofa reading the paper. The highlighter he was holding had fallen to the ground, and I saw in his lap that he'd done some circling. I picked up the paper. Classifieds. Apartment listings.

"For you?"

He nodded.

I sat down beside him. "Because of Rosalie?"

He shrugged. "Is that insane?"

"What does it matter what I think? It's your life." I handed him the paper, which he immediately started folding up as if perhaps I would unsee his yellow circles. "Maybe it isn't crazy anyway. Maybe it's… brave."

He laughed as if he didn't believe it. "There's one way of looking at it." He set the folded up paper on the floor near his foot.

I didn't let the subject fold up with the paper. "You two are that serious already?"

"I don't know." He sat back and rubbed his chin. He sort of just held his hand there and moved his head back and forth as he rubbed with his palm. "I'd like to find out. You know? You can't find out in a week."

"But it must be serious enough for_ that_, though. For you to consider moving here to find out?"

"There's potential," he said, "How many times does a person find potential like this? Twenty-seven years it took me to find this. That's enough. That's all I need. Am I going to risk wasting another twenty years? Would you?"

"No." My answer came almost before he'd finished the question. I'd wasted four years dating and not dating, while the whole time Edward was right in front of me. Emmett was quicker to see what was right in front of him than Edward and I had been. I wouldn't begrudge him that. "Like I said. Brave."

"If it wasn't for you, I'd never know Rosalie existed. How did you meet her, anyway? Not school. Through friends, I guess?"

That was when I knew that Rosalie hadn't said a word about our doctor-patient relationship. My pause seemed to stump him.

"Is it a secret? She ignored that question, too."

"Not a secret anymore, I guess. She's my… she's my therapist."

I took an absent scoot back on the sofa while Emmett's eyes narrowed. I couldn't tell if he was upset with Rosalie for not telling him. I readied myself to explain the doctor-patient confidentiality clause, but his face softened almost immediately.

"You're okay, here with me?"

I was still having trouble relaxing around Jasper, keeping myself constantly aware of his presence whenever we were in the same room. But it hadn't occurred to me until that question from Emmett that for the last ten minutes or so, I'd been calmly alone in the apartment with a man. I had only a half-second to dwell on that accomplishment before I started sweating. I had yet to remove my coat, and I still didn't.

"Let's go for a walk." I stood up. "I'll show you around the East Village." I moved to and out the door without a glance back at Emmett. If he picked the paper up off the floor or left it there, I didn't know. I didn't chance a look at him until we were outside under the gray afternoon sky, and among people.

He examined the buildings up and down, as only a tourist would, and had me seeing things for the first time. Like the top of an apartment building on First Avenue, ornately designed, a study in curves, and finished in gold. The longer I looked at it, the more it reminded me of one of Edward's recent paintings.

As we moved along, Emmett told me that he'd majored in journalism, and as crazy as it may seem for him to move to New York for a girl, she wasn't his sole reason. He also hoped to land a job as a columnist.

"Back home I've been doing some travel writing, hotels and restaurants, but at this point I'll take anything," he said. "A small paper, a magazine. Anything just to get out there and read."

He wanted more eyes on his work than the independent magazine he wrote for in Washington brought him.

New York is the place for that, I told him, pointing out the obvious. I laughed in embarrassment of not really knowing how to imply that Emmett needn't justify his decision to move.

I changed the subject, asked Emmett to tell me about Edward as a teenager. I thought that there was nothing he could tell me that would surprise me. I knew every hidden cranny of Edward. But that was before he told me that Edward was a boring teenager.

"What?"

He said they tried to get him to party but he usually to stayed home at night. Painting.

"I know he partied here, though," Emmett said, "because I-uh, heard."

"Yeah, he used to. Not so much anymore."

Emmett shook his head. "No, I guess not."

We were passing the Wai Café. The place I'd met Jessica for lunch on one of my first ventures out alone a few months back. I paused and looked through the window, the dull, scuffed up wood floor that needed polishing. Strangers were seated at the table Jess and I had shared.

That day as I'd walked to and from the café I'd been hyper-aware of my aloneness. And the same for days, weeks, months after. But now, I could be alone without even realizing it - unaware until something startled me or reminded me. Having to be reminded of my aloneness and my vulnerability, like earlier with Emmett - this was new.

"Hungry?" Emmett asked.

I shook my head and continued walking. Straight ahead, Rosalie's right direction, a smile tugging at my lips.

Emmett was the one to stop next for another paper at a newsstand. "You know he won art contests constantly? Not in Forks. He'd travel or send his paintings and sketches out to bigger cities. His mom hung his ribbons across one of his walls. That's how many times he placed. The ribbons made it all the way across a wall. I think he even got some checks a few times."

I froze in my step and stared at Emmett, though I wasn't seeing him. I was seeing Edward's room strewn with ribbons. I'd been in there before. Alice had brought me in on a number of occasions to gather something from his room. A book, a T-shirt. I'd never looked closely at the ribbons, never read the printing, always assuming the ribbons were for sports. I thought then of the irony of misunderstanding where those ribbons came from, but not of the irony of having been in his room, my boyfriend's room, before ever meeting him.

"This thing he has going on," Emmett said. "This art exhibit? However much you or I think this means to him, it means more."

"Wow." It was a breath of cool air.

"Yeah."

~::::::~

I didn't need Emmett's words about Edward to make me nervous - I was already there. What he said, though, had tipped me from nervous into somewhere else, some area of anxious I'd never experienced before. I had two outfits spread over the bed. One was a black dress and the other was black pants and an ivory silk, flowy top thing.

"Edward!" I called. He came into our room, closing the door behind him. He was still tie-less, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the top and untucked from his slacks. Before we left for the gallery, his tie would be perfect, his shirt tucked and under his freshly pressed jacket. But this moment wasn't about him, this was about my own struggle over what to wear. And I was taking it as seriously as world peace. My finger was shaking as it pressed against my lips in deep concentration.

"I can't decide."

"Well.." his arms folded across his chest, his eyebrows tightening, he was giving this just about as much attention as I was. "which do you like best?"

"I like the dress best, but…"

"Then wear the dress." He picked it up and handed it over to me like it held the weight of a feather, and not the weight of the world. My world.

I looked up at him, perplexed and relieved with how easy he'd made it sound.

"What?" he asked.

"Okay." I took a deep breath followed by a determined nod of my head. I lifted my top off and pushed my jeans down, feeling Edward's eyes on me.

I pulled the sheath over my head. "Zip me," I said, lifting my hair.

I felt his fingers feather against my back. He took my shoulders and spun me around. "Beautiful." He kissed me. I smiled and he kissed me again, and then again, and down my neck. I laughed. Sure there was the tickle of his lips, but also, I 'd gotten myself into a dress. His hand came to my thigh, lifting my leg over his, and then pushing under the hem of my dress, making his way all the way up to my panties.

I choked on my laughter and stepped back. In fact I'm sure I took at least three steps back. "Don't do that," I said, the words as fast as my flee from his touch.

"What's wrong?" His lips pursed. "I've touched you there before."

"I can't do this." I reached both hands around, one over my shoulder, and one behind my back, trying to get to the zipper.

"What did I do, Bella?"

"It's not you, it's the dress. Help me get it off!"

"Okay, okay, calm down. What's wrong with the dress?"

I realized then that though my aversion to skirts and dresses had been so strong I'd once wanted them all burned, I'd never voiced that to Edward.

"Was that a flashback? Because I touched you?"

"No. I need it off!" I pulled at it as if it was scorching me. "It's not just the touching, it's - it's the easy access. Edward…" I realized then that was as far as my explanation was going and if he didn't get it, that would be too bad.

His eyes met mine. "Oh, oh." He shook his head. "I never thought-" His eyes drifted toward the ceiling. "You… no, you haven't worn a dress since then, have you?"

I shook my head.

"And this would be your first night? On the night of my first real show?"

"You're right. See? Another reason I can't wear it. No bad reactions tonight of all nights. This is_ your_ night." I turned around and lifted my hair for the second time. "Unzip."

"No, Bella. You misunderstood me. I think it's a good idea. A night of firsts for both of us. You know?" He took hold of my zipper, but instead of unzipping, he pulled me against him and kissed the base of my neck. "Wear the dress. I won't touch your legs and neither will anyone else. And you could wear, um, tights or whatever. Plus you'll have your coat. Which one do you want?" He went into the closet. "The wool?"

In my dress, wool coat, black tights, I met Alice in the living room. I linked my arm through hers and she nuzzled her head against my shoulder.

"How do you think it's going to go?"

"Like I said the first forty times you asked, it's going to be great! Forget about expectations. It doesn't matter if anything sells. This is exposure, Bella. It can't go badly. And if a piece does sell-"

"We'll be pleasantly surprised," I said.

"See? I knew you were listening the first sixty times. Besides, this is just one opportunity out of hundreds if he just sticks with his thing and looks in the right places."

"You make it sound easy."

"Hey, when you're in my line of work, where people lose their jobs left and right, up and down, and diagonally, for god's sake, is there any other way to look at it?" She broke away from me, making her way over to Jasper, who was ready and waiting by the door, his coat draped over his arm. "Not that I have to worry about losing my job anymore. I've got the CEO's son wrapped around my pinky toe." She laughed and kissed him. Anyone who knew Alice even a little bit would know that as true as her statement was, job security held not even an ink-droplet of merit against her many reasons for marrying Jasper.

Edward came up behind me, took my hand, and for the first time in a week, all five of us walked out the door together.

We arrived early, the gallery door locked, and we waited in the cold, looking through the door for someone to let us in. There was a man in a sweatshirt, hood covering his head, sitting on the cement just outside the gallery. His hand was working away over a large sketch tablet. Two employees in suit-and-tie shooed him away from the front.

Before he moved he made some finishing touches, and I peered over at his drawing. It was a charcoal sketch of the building across the street, the full moon rising just behind it. I looked up, but there was no moon - not visible anyway.

"Pretty," I said as he tucked it beneath his arm. "So real it made me look."

"For the moon? It was the only thing missing."

I looked into his eyes, colorless in the dark of the night, and his hair was colorless too, hidden under his hood. Somehow those two things - eye color, hair color - didn't seem to matter. I didn't even consider what color they might have been or how threatened I would have felt had this stranger been blond and blue eyed, standing mere inches away from me. He could have grabbed my hand if he wanted to. My arm. My body. But on that night, as my friends passed by me to enter the gallery, it didn't occur to me that what may very well have been a trigger was completely absent from my mind. That personal feat would remain lost on me until I'd remember the moment later, writing about it in my journal, still wearing my dress.

Under the evenly spread streetlights, the stranger seemed to disappear and reappear in eight or ten feet increments as he shuffled down the block.

"What was it?" Edward asked, and I pointed across the street.

"Exactly that. Well, almost exactly." My eyes lifted to the near black sky. It did look like the moon was missing.

Marcus held the door open, giving each of us a handshake as we passed. And just as he'd been there to greet us, we were all there to greet Rosalie, Angela and Jessica. Angela was hand-in-hand with Ben, and Jessica was off to the side of Mike, who had dropped her hand to slide his own in his pocket. Mike didn't seem to remember me from that one night at The Lounge.

I could tell Edward recognized the name Mike, even though he pretended not to.

"Are you two exclusive now?" I discreetly asked Jessica once the introductions were taken care of and we were making our way toward the champagne and refreshments table.

"I don't know. He won't say," she whispered back.

"Have you asked?"

"Have I asked?" She didn't bother to whisper that question, or even to keep her voice low. She let everyone in this section of the gallery hear her shock over my apparently naive question. "Not the sort of thing you just ask, Bella."

I frowned and gave a slight nod.

"Not if you want them to stick around, anyway." This she whispered, revealing a small, mischievous smile.

"Oh," I said, as if I understood. I let it go, as I did so many things with Jessica. She had a different way of looking at the world. It was her way, and there was no use arguing.

More and more guests began to file in and our big group crowded around Edward's section to get first look at all of the paintings he'd decided to include. Though I was familiar with most of them already, there were a few I was seeing for the first time. Some he may have painted in his earlier NYU days. I gave them a close inspection to see if there were any clues into his personality, or insight into the emotions that gave his paintings their life. What mood had he been in, what may have provoked such a painting? But I had no clue. The only ones I could draw any conclusion to were the ones I'd been around for. However, I knew that Edward could recall every emotion he'd experienced while painting, no matter how long ago. It impressed me all the more that he was sharing so much of himself with strangers, and even giving those strangers the opportunity to walk away with pieces of himself tonight - pieces of his past. That must be a difficult thing for any artist to experience.

I wouldn't get a good look at anyone else's art during this show. As the rest of our party meandered the gallery, I stood off to the side, me in my dress, watching Edward interact with the small crowd. Guests wanted to talk with Edward about his art and he had to make himself available, and likable, and not too snobby or condescending in his answers to their questions. I gave him his space, though too curious to completely go away.

I noticed that Edward held his tie in one hand while listening to other people's thoughts or questions and then pulled it through his fingers as he answered. I couldn't have missed that action because the first time I saw it, the entire scene around me changed. I wasn't in the art gallery. I was back in my old apartment, sitting nervously on the sofa, pulling Edward's silk tie through my fingers while James grew angrier and angrier. I blinked several times in a row, backing up, and once I hit the cool wall, I was no longer sitting on that sofa; I was standing again in the white light of the gallery, Edward a few feet away. I stayed there against the wall, keeping one hand on it and watched while Edward repeated the action with his tie. I was pushing myself, I knew, but I concentrated so hard on Edward's hand that when he pulled it through the next time, and the time after that, and every time following, I remained where I was, no living room, no James.

Edward, perhaps attuned to my feelings, or maybe just in his normal, regular concern for me, glanced over a few times giving me a smile. I moved my eyes to his face, waiting for the next time his eyes would meet mine, and when they did, I was sure to return the smile. The last thing I needed was for any worry to distract him from conversation.

One woman was yapping away at Edward for quite a while. His hand hadn't let his tie go. I inched closer until I was within earshot of their conversation. The painting they were addressing was titled "Earth" and it was a sphere made with hundreds or even thousands of tiny, wavy, curving lines in all shades of gold, intermixed with some white here and there. It almost had a 3-D effect, and the appearance of how the earth might look if it was unraveling.

"It's interesting," the blonde woman was saying. She seemed my mother's age. "Very interesting that you chose gold tones for the Earth. Yes, I like that. Why did you choose gold?"

Edward looked at her for a moment, his tie slipping through his fingers and then rising to scratch his chin.

I knew him well enough to know he likely didn't have a concrete reason for choosing gold, other than that it felt right to him at the time, and once the color was mixed to the shade he saw in his mind, he'd then begun the painting. In fact, the painting and image may well have begun with the color, and his emotions handled the rest.

"Well…" Edward cleared his throat. "The truth is... it could be the earth or it could be eternity. The way I see it, Earth is the closest thing we have to understanding eternity. Endings and beginnings are continually meeting and blending. One second ends and a new one begins over and over until they blur. When you really think about it, you can't pinpoint an end. Not really. As long as the earth spins, there are no actual, definite ends. Eternity isn't as far off and distant as it sounds. It's right here with us, all the time. There-" he pointed to his painting "-the earth is eternity. And gold is the only color that could possibly represent that."

The woman stared into Edward's eyes for a moment. "That's quite right. That's very true. The earth is gold for us, isn't it? Not literally, of course, but certainly in what it offers us." She looked closer at the painting, then stepped back to examine it from a distance. Her eyes moved down to the card in her hand. "And this is $4000?"

"It is." He cleared his throat.

"That's a good price, isn't it? A very good price." I watched her mark the paper in her hand and then she whispered something to Edward. I was dying to know what she whispered, but I had to wait out another conversation and witness more tie-holding and un-tie-holding before I got the chance to approach him.

He brought his hand to my back and bent down to kiss my cheek.

"Edward, you're blowing me away!"

"I am?" he asked, speaking under his breath. "Bella, this is nerve-racking. Am I sweating?"

I looked up at his forehead, touched it. "A little, but it's not noticeable. You look gorgeous and confident. Here, take your jacket off." I helped him out of it and folded it over my arm. "I don't give you enough credit."

"For what?"

"All the thought that goes into your paintings."

"You think I paint with a blank mind?"

"No, not that. I just didn't realize how much was actually involved when you painted."

"I told you before, Bella. To me, art is philosophy you can see. You put your thoughts down in colors, mind on canvas. And hopefully, if you're good enough, the same thing happens when other people look at it. Only they see their own thoughts."

"What did that lady whisper to you?"

He smiled and leaned to my ear. "She said, 'You just sold yourself a painting, young man.'"

My eyes widened and my hand covered my mouth. I had to concentrate extremely hard on not jumping into Edward's arms. I very slowly, and with purposed calm, brought an arm around his waist and squeezed while letting out the quietest, celebratory squeak from my throat. "Your first painting? Oh my god, Edward, congratulations!"

He grazed my ear with his lips as he whispered, "Second."

My chin dropped, perhaps to the floor. We were interrupted by a man then, who introduced himself and shook Edward's hand. He worked with the New York Times and they were covering the show, interviewing the artists. Edward gave me a quick, almost frightened glance. I stood on tiptoe and whispered, "Just stick to your truth. You're flawless."

At the end of the night, the rest of our crew in the back of the gallery finishing off the champagne, Edward and I sat on the cool floor under his paintings. We were pondering over who the anonymous person might have been to purchase his third and final painting sold that night. Since we were getting no where with that, I changed the subject.

Ever since I'd heard Edward's explanation of his "Earth" painting, I'd been thinking about how it all pertained to me. I was reminded of my conversation with Rosalie about moving forward. I'd felt like I'd been moving in circles or spirals, and suddenly, it occurred to me that that might not be such a bad thing. Spinning and rotating is how the earth moves, and there is constant forward movement because of it.

"But what if the earth stops spinning?" I asked. "Like the end of the world. Then your theory is wrong. There'd be no such thing as eternity."

"If the earth stops spinning, we no longer exist. None of it would matter. The reality is, though, we're here, a part of eternity. And because we're here, it matters. My theory still stands."

I turned to look up at Edward and smile. "You just painted that earth one a couple of weeks ago. What got you thinking about eternity?"

He took my hand, givining it a kiss. "Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?"

My smile widened. "I want to hear it."

"You," he said.


	28. Chapter 28

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 28

I checked my watch, a shiver running through me that hadn't come from the wind. Sixteen minutes. Sixteen minutes and some seconds, I'd been standing there staring across the street at my old apartment. Jessica wasn't expecting me for another four minutes. I had four more minutes to work up my courage to cross the street and knock on that door.

Alice, Jasper, and Emmett had flown home last Sunday. The goodbyes weren't easy. Especially between me and Alice, who refused to let go of each other.

"I'm so excited for you, Alice," I said against her shoulder. "Your engagement, you're going to be so happy! Jasper is your Edward."

She yanked back to stick a finger in her mouth, pretending to gag. "Yuck! Edward is my brother. Jasper is my Jasper. Edward is your Jasper - that's how it goes." We were high school Juniors all over again and we laughed together just the same.

"I'm going to miss you, sister," I said.

"Me too. You take care of yourself. Stay strong."

I gave her a half smile. "Sure."

I'd hugged Emmet goodbye next, postponing my interaction with Jasper, but I couldn't avoid him forever. I inched over to Jasper, who seemed to dwarf me. In my hesitation to be sure panic wouldn't make an appearance,I felt smaller than I actually was. Once positive I was in control and would remain that way, I hugged him, thanking him for all he'd done for me in such a short time.

Our apartment quiet again, I turned to Edward. "Things are changing. I think I can feel the ground beneath my feet again. It feels… solid."

He smiled.

"There's just one thing I have to do before the week is over."

"What's that?"

"I have to talk to Jessica about everything."

"You know she already knows, Bella."

"It's time she heard it from me. I owe her that much."

He gave a quiet laugh and shook his head. "You don't owe anyone anything. But do what you have to."

And here I was, readying myself for that conversation. Empty branches on the trees were being whipped in all directions. Above me large ashy clouds moved as if running away from something. After the next car passed I stepped into the street, wind blowing at my hair, shoving it in my face. My legs, as heavy as rooted trees, somehow got me to the other side and down the steps, where I stared at the door. I didn't time how long I stood there, but eventually, I did lift my weighted hand, smoothed my hair, and knocked.

I was greeted with a spiky bleached head, and a face just as white and almost as pointy. His eyes reminded me of diamonds.

I asked for Jessica.

"Hey, you're - you're… don't tell me." He squinted at me. "The old roommate... Bella."

"Yeah, how did you-"

"Pictures." He smiled and widened the door. "Come in."

I didn't move. "So Jessica_ is_ home?"

"No, no, but she'll be back in, like, ten minutes. She's just around the corner. Wait in here."

"Are you sure she'll be right back?"

"Yeah, sure." He waved me in with his hand. "You know, as long as she doesn't get distracted by, uh, beauty products, or a hot guy."

"I'll just wait out here."

"Oh yeah, I have been known to bite," he said.

I stepped back. My heel hit the bottom step.

"Man, my jokes are getting lame. Yeah, I'd wait out there if I had to face me, too." He moved aside. "Come on. Have a drink. It's Saturday." He said it as if the day of the week held some significance in my hesitation, as if any other day of the week was fine for waiting outside, but Saturdays were the days for coming in and having drinks. He left the door open and walked away.

Watching him as I entered, my back scraped along the door jamb. He was already headed toward the kitchen.

"You're Matt?" With him retreating from me, I relaxed. That was, until I caught an accidental glimpse of the floor. The spot. A shudder ran through me as ghostly pieces of my attack flashed before me. There I was on the ground, and there _he_ was. Noises filled my head that couldn't possibly have been in the room. I recognized my own voice, my own cries out. My eyes burned. I turned to stare at the bookshelf, which wasn't the ideal place for my eyes to land, but safer than the floor.

"Yeah. Just drop your coat wherever and have a seat," Matt called, opening a cupboard.

I held my coat tighter around me.

Without watching, and nearly drowned out by all the racket in my mind, I could hear the clinking of glassware followed by Matt's shuffling through the fridge.

Where my books had once lined the bookshelf, framed photo collages were their replacements. There was a picture of Jessica and me hugging. We were nineteen in the picture and we both looked so young to me, so innocent and even pure. It couldn't have been, but our laughing faces seemed to glow. It was almost enough to bring a smile to my face in that apartment.

When Matt handed me the glass of white wine I recognized the glass as mine. It was from a set I'd left for Jessica. I took a sip then set it down, not really wanting it.

My head turned toward the window. It had the same white curtain, letting in the light but blocking out the goings on of outside, or inside. Curtains were more consequential than they seemed. They hid secrets, or they revealed them. They could keep you safe or they could further endanger you. They could do all that and most people probably didn't even notice them most of the time. There was a chair in front of the window now. It didn't look right. The chair blocking the path to the window made me feel more caged in.

"Can I open the window? Do you mind?"

He laughed. "Because it's so... hot?"

"Just, do you mind?"

After a shrug and a strange look at me, he leaned an arm over the chair and pushed the window open. The curtain blew.

"I have something of yours." He pointed a slow finger at me, as if trying to remember what he had or where he'd put it. He disappeared into my old bedroom. The last person I'd seen go into that room had been Edward. I felt like I should warn Matt about something, but I was unsure what. I started to rationalize with myself with the reminder that it wasn't the apartment's fault, what happened to me. Just like I'd told my dad it wasn't New York's fault.

Matt came back with an empty pewter picture frame - the one that used to hold the photo of James. The photo that was now with the police. He aimed a thumb over his shoulder toward my old room. "How did you deal with the ruckus of that kitchen behind us? Mornings are like battle grounds here."

"I kind of liked the noise," I said, taking the frame from him and then going over to the trash in the kitchen, I dropped it in.

"Well don't throw it away. I'll keep it." He dug it out. I didn't try to stop him. The frame wouldn't do any harm just existing in the world, as long as it didn't exist with me.

"Don't put a photo of anyone you really care about in that frame," I said. "Not someone you care about the most."

He raised an eyebrow. "Bad breakup?"

"Something like that." It was nothing like that, but I knew he'd like that answer.

When Jessica walked through the doorway, the relief that blew through me came with freezing air. I began also to feel the cold from the open window that I hadn't felt before.

"God, that wind!" She slammed the door. "Sorry I'm late. We needed toilet paper. I mean, who runs out of toilet paper, right?" She handed her bag to Matt. "We do, that's who. We've been using napkins."

Matt laughed. "Why do you tell people that, weirdo?"

"Bella isn't people. Why in the name of all that is holy is the window open?" She shoved it closed. "It's colder than Hell in here! You're the weirdo, Matt!"

"Hey, Jess," I said, as if I hadn't heard her ranting.

"Hey, stranger!"

"Can we talk? In your room?" I needed to be out of the living room. As much as I loved Jessica's reference to Hell being a cold place - and nothing could be more Jessica - it was a short-lived distraction from my anxiety. Everything in the living room was like rattling chains, so loud. The noise seemed to grow louder after the window was closed.

I followed her. She tossed her purse on the bed while I shut the door. I felt normal in there, quiet. Her room was set up just like before. She picked up a brush from her vanity and started brushing her hair.

"What's up? Is this about Mike? Did he call you?" She pointed her brush at me.

"Why would he call me?"

"Never mind." She brushed faster.

"Why would he call me, Jess?"

"Nothing. I told him last night that if he wanted to be with me at all then he could only be with me. And if that wasn't good enough, I told him to call you because I didn't want to hear it. Not from him. And you were the one who got me thinking about talking to him about being exclusive, so…"

"Well, he didn't call, so I guess that's a good sign for you?"

"What did you want, then? Is everything okay with Boytoy?"

"Yeah, Edward's fine. I just... I've been thinking about what a good friend you've been to me. Giving me what I needed when I needed it most. And I haven't. I haven't thanked you or even given you the respect you deserve. What you did for me in my apartment that day, nobody has ever done anything like that for me before."

"What in the universe are you talking about?" Her brushing had stopped. I had her full attention.

"Jess, it's something you already know about me. I know you know." I paused, and eyed her until her gaze fell.

She nodded, started to open her mouth, but no words came out.

"You figured it out that day when you helped bring my things over, and you pretended you didn't. You can't know how much that meant to me. If you hadn't done that for me, I don't know what would've happened. I would've fallen apart - I was barely put together as it was. But I think you deserve to hear it from me." Her eyes met mine again. Mine hadn't left her face. "James raped me."

I was able to say the word this time, and even though I'd said it quietly, it still quaked through me. I could almost see the capital letters as they came out of my mouth: R-A-P-E-D. They were so big and strong that they could shake the earth and take my dignity with them. I clenched my jaw, closed my eyes and took my dignity back, let the ground under my feet settle.

She nodded, she swallowed, her nostrils flared. She swept a hand over my hair, pulling some over my shoulder and brushed the ends. "I know, baby."

"You found out on accident. You must've been horrified, but you took it like an angel. You were perfect, Jess."

"And now you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no. I just wanted to tell you myself. The thing I should've done in the first place, before you had to find out on your own and then deal with it on your own."

She shrugged one shoulder. "It wasn't that hard to deal with once I saw you were okay."

"What do you mean?" She thought I'd been okay?

"You're sad sometimes, I can see that, but you're the same."

"I am?"

"You haven't really changed. Not the way I'd expect."

This was shock, this feeling I had. Shock followed by gratitude. To see myself through her

eyes. It was exactly what I needed.

Her hand caught my shoulder. "Thanks for telling me." She hugged me. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"Where to?"

"I'll show you."

I followed her, but stopped in the living room. "Wait a sec," I said. I went over to the window - pulled the chair aside.

"What are you doing? That's Matt's."

I opened the window, felt the chill. Wind blew the curtain at me. I pushed it behind me and began to remove the screen.

"What are you doing?" Jessica asked again.

"I want to try something."

I set the screen on the floor and hoisted myself up, a leg out, then another. I let myself drop to the ground.

"Your friend is hilarious!" I heard Matt say somewhere far away behind me. "Nothing she's done has made sense since she got here. We must have her over more often."

Jessica began a reply. I blocked the voices out, closed my eyes and put all my focus on myself. Did I feel any different?

I didn't know what I was expecting; it had all been an impulse when I looked over at that window - the window that had been haunting me since James attacked me. I knew then it wasn't expectations that had me climbing through the window. It was hope. I stood there and hoped for some supernatural change. The wind slapped my face as if to wake me from a dream. I opened my eyes. I felt nothing different except embarrassment. I heard laughing behind me. Jessica was climbing out the window too.

She put an arm around me, smiling big. "See?" she said, "You're still the same goof you always were!" She punched my side. "Come on."

She took me to a bar two avenues over, one we used to frequent a lifetime ago. It was a long, narrow place, dark as night in the afternoon. It smelled of stale cigarettes, dirty ashtrays, and beer stains. An old beat up pool table stood all the way in the back. It took three tries to get the thing to swallow our quarters and spit out the balls.

We played a few rounds and talked about nonsense. They were the types of things you talk about with Jessica, the types of things that seem like they don't matter, but sometimes they're what matter the most. I was smiling, laughing, not worried about who was around me. Though, in honesty, at 3:00 in the afternoon, not many people were in the bar.

A second cocktail came and I texted Edward that I'd be later than expected.

"You know," Jessica said, pulling up a chair at the high round table. "When my dad retired, he and my mom bought a house in The Hamptons. We could go there sometime. You know, just girls?"

"I'd like that. Someday. I'm sure I can do that with you someday. Just girls." I started to say "someday" again, but caught myself and just nodded.

"Whenever. Just let me know when. It's an open invitation. No expiration. Here." She went through her purse, scribbled something down, tore the paper and gave it to me. "It's an open-ended ticket. Official." She smiled.

I took the "ticket" and slipped it into my pocket.

"Angela can come if you want. I like her. And that other friend of yours, Rosalie, and Alice too, if she can get back here."

"That actually sounds pretty awesome. Here, add them to the ticket." I started to give her back her torn paper when I heard my name.

"Isa-Bella?" I recognized that voice, that accent, that pronunciation of my name. I turned. "Hello, lady! How _are_ you? It's been years, I think."

Maria kissed both my cheeks, then pulled me into a tight hug. It was one of those real hugs, the kind that embraced and squeezed. I could almost feel her heart beating against mine. Her black hair was as long as ever. I felt it fall well past my arms as they wrapped her waist in the hug.

"Not that many years," I said. "I think one year."

"My goodness," she said. "I can't believe I'm actually seeing you, and in here? I didn't even know you came here! Did you know Dom tends to the bar? They don't make him pay for the drinks."

"Dominic? You still hang out with him?"

"Sure, why not? Oh, I heard about our James… Could it be true?"

"He's not our James." My shoulders tightened in disgust. "But how do you know?"

"A detective, uhmm… oh..." she waved a hand "... I forget his name. He asked me all kinds of questions. Did you get asked these questions, too?"

"I'm sure I did."

"But it can't be. That's what I told that detective. It just can't be."

"It is," I said.

"No… it _can't_ be. There must be a mistake."

"It's true, Maria. James is wanted for rape because he raped someone, and I know it's true because I'm the one he raped." That time when I said it, I'd said it out of anger and I said it loud. I was stronger than the word that time. It had sprung from my mouth three times and flown away.

"If you see him or hear from him, you have to turn him in. Have you heard from him?"

"It can't be. You?"

I wished she would stop repeating, _It can't be_, before I blew up at her.

"He loved you."

"Maria,_ please_." I'd been doing so well up until that point. My eyes were begging her to stop, and that was when it finally hit her. I was telling the truth.

She covered her mouth, which is what she should have done in the beginning. "I'm sorry. I-I…"

"I know. You're shocked, but just don't say it's not true."

Her eyes turned to sapphires as they teared up.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Maria. I mean, I'm not sorry. I'm tired of being sorry. But I know it's hard. I know it's shocking."

"Hard? This is like… catastrophic."

I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. It was one of those things that seemed impossible, yet it was so. One of those things that should only exist in some alternate universe, yet it existed in ours.

She stared at me and I waited for her to say something. When the wait turned into almost forever, when I started to feel like a caged circus freak, I was ready to get out of there.

"We should get going, Jess."

Maria stopped me, a hand at my shoulder. "Wait. If I hear from him, I'll turn him in. And if there's anything else I can do for you, you call me, sweetie. Here," she said backing up, reaching into her purse. It glittered with every movement. She pulled out a business card and handed it to me. "You call me. I'll have you over, fix you up some nice drinks."

I thanked her and she asked me to wait again, snatching the card back. She puckered her lips and smashed them onto the back of the business card, making a lipstick stamp. "Now you have my love to take with you." She gave each of my cheeks a kiss again and said, "Until next time, Isabella."

Something inside my throat tightened when I heard this pronunciation of my name. It wasn't the way Maria was supposed to pronounce it, and I felt the too big significance of this very small change. I wanted to tell her to say my name again the other way, the way she always had. But like so much that I wanted to say, I never said it. I accepted the change.

"You know her?" Jessica asked once we were outside.

"Used to. We had James in common."

I declined when Jessica offered to walk me home. There was a time when I might have let the alcohol take the credit for my courage, but not now. I knew it was in me to push myself; I'd been doing that for a long time now. Maybe soon I would ride the subway alone. Just sit and see where I ended up.

The wind had died down some and the sun was beginning to set when I climbed the steps to the main entrance of my apartment. The overcast sky looked like watered down tomato soup - thick, and light red.

I found Edward in his art room mixing paints. Some had dried on his fingertips. I felt their roughness when he held my face to kiss me. He asked me how it went and I told him everything, watching his face contort into different expressions as mine must have changed with different emotions throughout that afternoon. I smiled, glad he was going through this with me, that he could feel what I felt.

"Here," he said, tugging at my fingers. "I want to paint you. Come here. You mind?"

I shook my head.

He pulled the comforter off the bed and spread it over the floor. "Go ahead, lie down."

"You want me to pose?"

"Nah, just lie there." I lay down as he went to a new box of different paints, not his oils.

"Can you take your clothes off?" he asked. "Is that okay?"

"You want to paint me naked?"

He nodded, asking again if that was okay. I pulled my shirt off and pushed down my pants. "All of it?" I asked.

"Whatever you're comfortable with."

I felt my eyes narrow. He was up to something I couldn't quite figure out. Was he trying to challenge me? I took all my clothes off, meeting whatever challenge he was placing before me.

"Blue," he asked, "or purple?"

"For what?"

"You'll see. Pick one."

"Purple."

He brought his pallet over - colors already mixed - along with a brush and a cup of water. He kneeled over me. "Don't worry," he said, "This'll wash off easy."

"What?" I lifted my head.

"Close your eyes. I mean, if - if you're okay with that."

"What are you doing?"

"Painting you," he said, and brought the brush to my chest. It was chilly and wet. Above my breasts he drew curves across my chest, and then he drew down my side, along my waist and over my hips.

I laughed. "You're crazy," I said.

"I think this is the best idea I've ever had." He added more paint to his brush, or maybe a new color. I shivered.

"Is it cold?" His voice was so deep.

"Not too cold." I closed my eyes and let him paint me, felt the brush all over the place, and then a new brush, a thicker brush, filling in the center of my body with color. Every time the brush swept along my lower stomach, I laughed and curved upwards, pulling my knees in. It tickled me in every part of my lower body when he touched me in that one spot. He drew the brush away, pushed my knees down, and when he had me nice and relaxed again, he brought the brush right back to that spot on my stomach. He kept teasing me there, wanting to see me out of control with wiggling.

Finally he gave me some relief, dragging the brush up from my belly button to one of my breasts, and I lay there, pinning myself to the floor, never having felt anything like this before, and not wanting it to stop. I chewed on the side of my tongue to keep any moaning at bay, but there was nothing I could do to relax my breathing, my chest lifting with every touch from Edward and his brush. He blew on me then, as if to dry the paint. It was driving me out of my mind. I started to reach up to him to kiss him, but he held my shoulders still.

"I'm not finished yet."

"Edward," I said, groaning, kicking my legs a little, throwing a slight tantrum. "This is torture. Kiss me!"

He covered my eyes with his hand until they closed, and then he surprised me by kissing me. Giving me what I'd asked for. His kiss was deep, and his brush dropped to the floor.

"It's over now," he said in a near growl. "I'll never finish the dress."

"You were painting a dress on me?" I reached for his lips.

His clothes were off fast and when he was as naked as me, I told him I didn't think I needed a dress anymore. He laughed, his lips flowing over my breasts like his brush had. He must have been tasting paint.

We made love. I lifted my legs, the curves of my feet resting on his hips, and he moved faster, but always with control. And he spoke to me.

"Bella," he'd say, and his voice was starting to strain. "Bella," he'd say again, and it seemed my name was all he could say. And each time my name came louder from his lips. "Bella… are you…"

I was close. I was ready, and I let him know by giving him his name. He let himself release inside of me, and I shuddered around him.

We held each other tight afterward. I laughed, and he did, too, but still asked me, "What?"

"You have paint all over your face," I said, smearing some across his cheek with my thumb. There were also paint splotches down his chest and stomach, some just colored his chest hairs.

He smiled down at me, and then something hit me. I sat up quick.

"Do you realize what we just did?"

He lay there looking up at me. "Why? Do you want to do it again?" His hand caressed my stomach, his middle finger tickling my sensitive spot.

"Edward, what I mean is… we just had sex… in here."

"I remember." He smiled.

"On the_ floor_." I whispered it.

His eyes widened in understanding. "Bella! Why did you let me? I'm sorry. I was so caught up in you, I didn't even - I should've stopped."

"Because, Mr. Edward, I didn't want to stop. I didn't think of James once. I didn't panic once."

"Why?"

His question confused me. "I don't know. I just didn't."

"Did you do what Rosalie taught you?"

"No, I didn't have to."

He sat up with me, pushed my hair over my shoulder and ran his hand along my hairline and down my face, and then cupped my cheek. "You're getting better."

"Edward?" I touched him just under his eyes. "You're crying."

He moved his lips to kiss my hand. "No, I just… you're healing. Everyday, you're progressing."

"Finally."

"Since the beginning," he said. "But are you okay? Do you want to move to the bed?"

I shook my head. "Stay here." I put my head on his shoulder. My window of escape was close, I thought. It wasn't the one in my old apartment; there was no physical window. I had to find my window on my own, somewhere inside myself. Wherever it was, it was close.

I touched his face again, the faint purple and yellow streaks. "What an ugly dress that must've been. You look ridiculous." I smiled.

"I'm going to marry you," he said.

I lifted my head. "What?"

"I-I I mean, I just thought you should know. I know this isn't the right time. I'll wait, but I'm going to marry you. If you'll have me."

"_If_ I'll have you? Who knows, maybe I'll ask you. If you wait too long, I'll have to ask you."

He laughed, lying down again and pulling me on top of him. "Unpredictable. That's one of the things I love most about you." He kissed my lips. "When I first said it, it was an accident. I didn't mean to say it out loud. I was afraid you were going to freak out, and instead - instead, you tell me you might ask me?"

"I'm not the only one who's unpredictable. You painting me? I thought you meant on canvas."

He turned on his side so he was looking down at me again. "I wanted to do something different. Have some fun with you to get your mind off things."

"It was fun," I said. "Got my mind on new things."

"That was the plan."

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Paint me again? Let's see if I can last until the dress is finished this time."

"On one condition," he said.

"I have to wear it everywhere I go?"

He dropped his head laughing. It was the cutest thing I'd ever seen him do. He was turning red, blushing. "No. No way." He laughed some more and pulled at my waist. "This body is for my eyes only. The condition is, I want you to lie on the bed, not the floor."

We relished each other that night. We were all smiles and paint, not letting anything get in the way of our happiness. We teased each other like we used to, like we did when we were just friends. And there was an entire night of laughter. It was as if we'd known - but we couldn't have known - that it would be a long time before we made love again, a long time before we felt this free together again.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

If interested, you can follow me on twitter believeitornott (note the two "t's" at the end)


	29. Chapter 29

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 29

The following week, between Edward's meetings and presentations uptown, our therapy sessions, my being drowned in schoolwork - sometimes keeping me up half the night revising a story - we were hardly in the same room except to sleep. It was a miracle Edward was even in the apartment when I got the phone call. He was in the bedroom getting dressed for his night to play at The Lounge when I dropped the phone.

It must have landed with a bang because it brought Edward out of the bedroom. I hadn't heard anything. I was questioning the adequacy of my ears, questioning if I'd really gotten that phone call at all or if I'd made it up - one of my dreams, my delusions.

Had I heard him right? Was this real?

I looked down at where my phone might have landed. It was gone. Edward had picked it up.

He said my name, his voice crashing through my silence like a huge wave.

I was looking at his chest. "I - he- he's on a plane. No. He's getting on a plane."

"Who? Who's getting on a plane?"

"My dad. And no, not yet, he will be." My hands shook. I was cold. There were goose bumps everywhere. A ringing in my ears had begun, low and distant.

"When? I thought we were going _there_ for Thanksgiving."

"I'm not sure when. Whenever the date for the hearing is set." I almost fell over at that. I used the sofa arm for support. I couldn't use Edward because he'd taken some steps back.

"What... what hearing?" His voice was too quiet. He knew. He understood.

"They've got him, Edward." I looked up at him. "They've got him."

He went white, as pale as the shirt he wore.

"They found him?"

"No."

"But you just said - You mean they know where he is? Your dad's going to get him."

"Yeah - no, not exactly. He's in New York, Edward. He turned himself in."

Even though I just said it out loud, it didn't seem any more real to me. It couldn't be fact.

"This is a dream." I rubbed my face fast. "This is a dream. I'm dreaming." I pinched my arms. "Am I dreaming, Edward?" The ringing in my ears was growing louder. There was some electric machine powered in my brain. I couldn't turn it off.

He pulled me close to him. His heart drummed against my head. Could I crawl in there? Into his soothing heart?

"No, Bella, sweetheart. You're not dreaming."

I was brought back to the day of the rape, sitting on Edward's lap waiting for the police while wishing I was waiting for nothing. I felt that same thing again. Wished to be waiting for nothing.

"How did he get to New York without being found? How long has he been here?"

"I don't know. He probably looks different and travels under a fake name. It has to be that."

"What if he's been here a long time? Do you think he came near us? Do you think he was close? Maybe he saw us without us even knowing." I shivered. All those times outside I'd thought I'd felt his eyes - maybe they really had been his eyes. I shook my head.

"Bella," Edward whispered. "Bella, when you ask me questions I can't answer… I wish I had all the answers for you."

I looked up at him, my hand on his chest, something new dawning on me. "That painting. That anonymous buyer. What if it was James? Was he taunting us? There must be a way to find out who bought it. Can't you ask Marcus? Make him tell you!"

"The things that go through your mind. If James bought it, he'd have used an alias anyway. We'd never know. I don't know. I think if he were taunting us, he'd do something more obvious."

I called Jessica first to tell her about James. And then I called Alice. The air was heavy both times. It was as if James was floating in it, hiding in corners, listening. Their reactions were very similar. It amazed me how great people could be. I knew that since the day James attacked me I wasn't the friend either of them deserved, and still, they were both there with the friendship I needed.

I brought up the same fears to Alice that I'd talked about with her brother. What if James had been in New York for a while; what if he'd seen me; what if he was the one who bought that painting. She squashed that last thought right away.

"No, you're not thinking that for a second longer," she said. "Jasper bought that painting. It's hanging in our dining room. We weren't going to tell Edward until he saw it here, and we never would've kept it a secret if we'd known where you would run with it. And if James was spying on you? That doesn't matter now. You're going to put him away for a long time. You have the power now, Bella."

I didn't feel powerful. I felt about as powerless as an ant without his colony.

She asked me if I could keep the painting Jasper bought a secret from Edward. If he could still get a surprise out of it.

Over the next ten days I was vacant. I hadn't exactly reverted to where I'd once been early on in my trauma. I was more in a state that appeared apathetic to both Edward and Rosalie. In truth I cared very much, constantly preoccupied with what was to come, unable to let it go from mind. And yet, letting it go was all I wanted to do. I was handcuffed to court proceedings, having no idea the dates of anything, only that they were imminent and I would be required to be there, and to talk. I went vacant.

The only way Edward could get me to respond to him at all was to draw me into an argument. He often tried to have regular conversations with me, but he might as well have been having them with the toaster. Nothing was regular for me anymore. I immersed myself in writing most of the time, living in other worlds, worlds that only existed in my head. This was the one way I could find to get myself to stop wondering, agonizing, wishing.

I was sitting at the kitchen table typing on my laptop. The rhythmic sound of the keys were what I heard instead of Edward's words. It wasn't that I was ignoring him, exactly, it was that I wasn't hearing him. And when I did hear him because he'd grown louder, angrier, I snapped answers at him so I could quickly get back into my other world.

"I'm worried about you and me, Bella. When you get like this. You're so far away from me I can't even see you!"

He'd had my attention, drawing me into the living room.

"You act like I have some control over this. Like this is a choice!"

"Don't you? If you wanted to be here with me, wouldn't you? This isn't even the push and pull of what it used to be. It's only the push. You keep pushing me farther and farther away. I'm tied to this whole thing too, Bella, and you won't let me in. When I ask you what's wrong or how I can help, you give me nothing! You haven't even come to bed in four days. When do you sleep?"

It was true. Each night he'd kiss my cheek and ask me to come to bed, and each night I'd move away without an answer. I'd open my laptop and write, pretending not to hear his sigh.

I'd grown used to the feelings of fear before James was in custody. Grown used to telling myself he'd never come back to New York. I could function in that daily life. But now that they'd caught him I was in this limbo. I wanted to know what to expect, but didn't want to think about it at the same time. When Rosalie brought it up, I shut her out too. I talked about homework, a paper I was having trouble with, a professor I couldn't keep up with. It was getting hard to find casual things to discuss so I cancelled my last appointment with her, talking to her receptionist so I wouldn't have Rosalie trying to change my mind.

"What do you want me to do, Edward? Apologize for the way I am? I'm through apologizing!"

He took me by my shoulders. "Look into my eyes. Do you really think what I want is an apology?"

I peered into his eyes, wide and darting back and forth between mine. It was the first time I'd looked at him in days. He'd stopped shaving. His face was the furriest I'd ever seen it and I hadn't even noticed until then. My heart clenched. My chin quivered.

"I want you, Bella. You." His hands were squeezing my shoulders. He pulled me into his chest and my arms came around his waist.

"Talk to me, Bella. Are you scared? Are you dreading this whole thing? You've got to be feeling _something_."

"Honestly, Edward, I don't want to be here. As big as Manhattan is, it can be so stifling. It's really not that big at all. It's so small. I want to go away - to the Caribbean or Europe, or even just Forks. Thanksgiving is next week; we were supposed to go to Forks, but we can't go anywhere. We can't make any plans."

"That's all I wanted to hear - your thoughts. When this is all over we'll take a vacation. We'll even move if you want, get a new apartment. Once James is behind bars and all the court stuff is over, it won't be so stifling. You'll see."

"But that's not what I want to hear. Don't you understand, Edward?" I'd pulled from the hug and was looking up at him. "I don't want to make plans for the future or look beyond when James is convicted. Because he hasn't been convicted, it isn't over, and there are no plans to make yet! I just want to take one day as it comes. One day at a time. But what you need and want is the opposite. You want to leap over everything. But that isn't real. That's a fairytale. Today is real." I pointed at the floor. "Where we're standing right now is the only reality."

"No it isn't. Reality isn't just the present. Making plans for the future, whether they eventually happen for us or not, reminds us that we _have_ a future."

"We're not in the same place anymore," I said, turning from him. "We no longer know through our osmosis what the other needs. And that scares me. I'd rather not think about that. Don't force me to!"

"We don't have to know what the other needs!" I heard him take a deep breath. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "We have voices, Bella. We can tell each other what we need. If you would just tell me…"

"I need to be left alone. Don't you get it?"

He was silent for a long time, and when I heard his voice again, he was on the other side of the room gathering his keys and his art portfolio.

"If it's space you need, you got it. You've had a whole boxing ring of space for the past week, but I'll give you more! I'm late for my meeting with the publisher anyway. I've got a presentation. Can't wait to see how this goes." He headed to the front door.

"Edward, I love you, okay? I still love you."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Yeah."

He seemed disappointed as he closed the door behind him. I knew then that a confirmation of my love wasn't what he was looking for. Perhaps what the both of us truly needed was similar after all: the answer to the question, was love enough to get us through this? I didn't know that answer. Did anybody?

If I thought the city was too stifling, the apartment was like a coffin. I had to get out. I walked up one street, down another, and then up another. I knew the streets too well to worry about getting lost. They were just numbers in one direction and letters in another, anyway. When it began to rain I hardly noticed until water splashed over my head in large heavy drops, and my hair was soaked before I even thought to pull up my hood. Still, the wind blew rain into my face. I turned another direction. Once a man offered to give me his umbrella. Not just share it with me, but actually give it to me. I declined.

When I got home, Edward was there cooking dinner. Our apartment smelled of garlic and rosemary, an aroma that often came from the kitchen when Edward cooked, a scent I typically loved, but not this day. On this day all that smell did was make me nauseous.

"I'm not hungry," I said, moving to the bedroom to change out of my wet clothes. My feet squished through puddles of water in my shoes with each step. I could barely feel my toes. I wiggled them to make sure they were still there.

"You have to eat something," he called from the kitchen.

"No I don't." I shivered, stepping out of my clothes. My teeth clattered.

"What happened to you?" Edward was in the doorway.

"I went for a walk." I pulled a huge sweatshirt over my head. One of Edward's.

"You look like you've been swimming. There's a trail of water leading in here."

"I'll wipe it up."

"How long were you out there?"

"Since you left for work." My voice quivered with cold. I sneezed.

"But it's been pouring the entire time."

I shrugged.

"Bella…" His voice was soft and full of caution - kind of the way one might speak to a sociopath. "What are you doing to yourself?" He wrapped me in a blanket from the bed. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I don't know!"

"You're acting like you're all alone, when you're not."

Wrapped up tight in the blanket I sat on the bed.

"Your face is gray."

"Then don't look," I said, turning from him.

"Is this really what you want? The reality you talk about?"

I didn't answer.

"Don't. Don't lock me out anymore." He was kneeling down now, looking up at me. "Seeing you like this? There's no way I'm letting this go, so don't even try to evade me, Bella. Seriously, Bella." He squeezed the sides of my arms as if trying to squeeze answers from me. "Bella, what is going on with you?"

"I don't know why I act this way. I don't know. I can't get away from myself, I can't get away from James, and I can't get away from you!" I pushed at his chest, and his hand went there as he stepped back, standing again.

"You want to get away from me?" He asked the question like he already knew what the answer was. It may as well have been a statement.

"Sometimes I do. Just so I don't have to see myself through your eyes." That said, I couldn't even look him in the eyes. He had to have noticed that, too.

"I think if you could see you through my eyes, it would be a hell of a lot better than how you see yourself. You're projecting something onto me and I don't know what it is, and I don't know why. But I'll be damned if I'm going to be on the list of people you need to get away from when James is the one right before me on that list!" He left the room. Pots and metal rattled around in the kitchen, and then it was quiet until I heard the bath running. He was drawing a bath.

"It's for you; get in."

"I thought you were mad."

"Had to put the food away. No one's going to eat it."

He left to play some low music, and I settled into the hot water in the already steamy bathroom. I dunked my head. Edward returned with a glass of water and a pill in his open palm, shoving it toward me.

"Take this," he said, his voice cold, withdrawn. "You haven't slept in days. Get some sleep tonight. Just sleep."

He sat on the edge of the tub as I swallowed the pill. I handed the glass back.

"I don't know what's going on, Bella. You say you want to be left alone. You say you want to get away from me. I'm not sure how to take that. All I know is it can't be good to leave you alone inside your head, but that's what you seem to want."

Again, I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say.

"And Rosalie said you cancelled a session and you haven't been returning her calls."

"You called her? You're checking up on me?"

"No, Bella, god. She called _me_ just to see how you are. Unfortunately I couldn't answer that question."

"Why won't anyone just let me be? Let me make my own decisions. Go away!" I tried to pull the shower curtain closed, but Edward sitting there blocked it.

"No one's trying to make decisions for you. We just have questions about the ones you're making!"

I stared at the wall in front of me.

"Maybe I was a fool to think we could get through this together in one piece. Maybe nobody can. Maybe it's arrogance to think our relationship is something beyond human."

"We're only human, Edward. Our relationship can't be anything but that. It can't be superhuman when all we are is human. And being human is an ugly thing."

When he reached for my face I flinched. He continued anyway, turning me to him.

I refused to meet his eyes.

"Is this really you, Bella?"

"It is," I said, and he let go of my face. I turned back to the wall opposite me.

"I'm telling myself you don't mean this. I've been telling myself that all week. This has to be fear or something. This can't be permanent. If I just wait it out. I've been forcing myself to stick through this because I'm afraid that the alternative would be me making the biggest mistake of my life. The kind of mistake you can't ever get back from."

"Maybe you shouldn't force yourself then. I mean, if you have to_ force_ yourself to stick around, doesn't that give you the answer you're looking for?"

"Bella?" It wasn't a question, it was a plea.

It was so much easier for me if I didn't talk. I kept digging myself deeper, and I wasn't meaning to. There was all this coldness in me. Coldness, that I wouldn't realize until later, I'd built up to protect myself from falling apart. But there, in that bathroom, I didn't know what it meant, so how could I explain it to Edward?

"Force wasn't the right word. I didn't mean that I don't want to be here. It's that I don't think you want me to be here. Everything you say, your body language, your avoiding me, is telling me that. You just told me to go away, Bella. _Me_. You've always told me to stay. Fuck. I don't know how to hold onto you anymore. You're slipping away. I'm losing you." His voice didn't just crack, it broke. He didn't sound anything like himself.

"I'm losing you," he said again, the last thing he'd say for several minutes. I heard dripping from the water faucet. I heard the quiet swishing of the dishwasher. I saw a tear I hadn't felt drop into the bath. I splashed water on my face.

"I don't know what to do. Do you really want me to leave?"

"Edward, this is your apartment. If anyone were to leave, it would be me, not you. And I haven't left, have I?"

"No."

We were both quiet. I thought maybe the conversation was over.

"I'm going to take that morsel of… something you just gave me to mean that you want me with you, but to have me with you means I'm not leaving you alone. I saw what happens when I leave you alone. You go out and walk aimlessly like you don't even know it's raining, and if you continue that way, you'll kill yourself. I'm taking control of the situation, Bella. After a long sleep tonight, we'll go to breakfast in the morning. You do have to eat. Without food, people _die_. If I were acting the way you are, this is exactly what I'd want you to do for me. And if you want me to stop this, stop taking care of you the only way I know how, then you're going to have to tell me you don't want me around anymore. You're going to have to tell me it's over."

He waited, as if what he'd said had been a dare.

Over? After everything we'd been through, all the odds we'd beaten so far, how could James finally being in custody be the one thing that destroyed us? James being caught was what we'd hoped for all along, and now that it had happened, were we going to let it tear us apart?

My sight dropped to his hand resting on his leg. I reached up and placed my hand on top. It was a magnetic pull. At the thought of me and Edward breaking up, being over, it was impossible _not_ to bring my hand to his. He entwined our fingers.

"Thank God," he said, and it had been a breath. He kissed my hand, his lips as hot as the bath water.

It was the first time since my dad's phone call that I'd touched Edward without him initiating it. And to feel his relief just then, it made me understand how much pain he'd been in while I'd been building my own wall of ice. He'd got real feeling out of me that moved beyond court proceedings, and I was as relieved about that as he was. I brought my other hand up and held his hand in both of mine.

"I know what's happening, Bella. I know you're handling this the best way you can, but I'm not going to let you abuse yourself anymore. I'm not going to sit by and watch you waste away. I won't let you go through this alone."

He reached into his pocket, turned my hand over, placing something cold and metal in it. "I got this for you today."

A simple, white-gold ring shone in my palm. The shine, the gesture, touched my heart.

"I had the inside engraved with our initials," he said.

I looked for the initials, mine on one side, his on the other.

"It's so you can remember through everything you're about to face that you're not alone. Even when I can't physically be with you, you'll never be alone."

"You got this for me?" The ring was tiny. I pushed it onto my pinky. To think, he'd had this in his pocket throughout our conversation, a conversation that had it gone differently might have ended with one of us turning away from the other. What would have happened to the ring then? What would have happened to Edward?

My arms circled his waist, wetting his clothes. I clutched him tight, but that wasn't enough for him. He lifted me up into an actual hug, letting me soak him completely. My heavy head dropped to his shoulder.

"Edward," I said. "I _am_ scared. I'm so scared. You're not losing me. All of this is just so hard. I've been wanting to see James convicted for forever it seems, but in order for that to happen I have to talk about what happened in court, and in front of _him_. How will I ever be able to do that? I don't even want to think about it." I could feel myself start to gag just thinking about it. It took all of my strength not to walk away from Edward to go open my laptop and enter a different world. I swallowed hard.

He held me there rubbing my back, my toes barely touching the ground.

"I know, Bella. I know you're scared. Let me be here for you. Let me help you."

He pulled a towel around me and continued to hold me.

"Will you let me be here for you?"

I adjusted my head against his shoulder, my hand drifting down to his chest, over his heart. "Yes."

I lifted my face and our eyes locked. "Bella?" His fingers traced my face and over my lips, and then slowly his lips found mine. Our kiss was soft and long. It was like a whisper we kept repeating.

When he let me go the sleeping pill was starting to take effect. I was dazed, leaning against the wall as I dried myself off and tried to put my night clothes on. Edward noticed and let me lean against him. He then lifted me to carry me to bed, even though I insisted I could walk. My eyes were closed.

We lay together under the covers, his arm holding me against him. I spoke in a far-away, grated voice. My tongue was so heavy. "My boyfriend has to drug me to get me to sleep in his bed," I said, and then sneezed.

"To get you to sleep anywhere," he said.

"Sleep," I said, as if I was greeting it, and I was. My drifting mind grabbed for it. But before I drifted off completely I said, "Thank you, Edward."

"Shh."

I reached back to touch his hip. He caught my fingers, folded our hands and brought them around to rest near my chest.

"Please," he said, "don't disappear on me again."

Two days later, my nose still sniffling, I got a letter. A date for a preliminary hearing had been set for Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. It was time. There was no other option. I'd meet with the assistant district attorney to prepare for the case, and my dad would fly out to be at the hearing with me.

The only consolation I could find in my court date was that school would be out for break that week. One less thing on my mind.

Actually, that wasn't true. The other, bigger, consolation was that I could breathe again. All those days when I'd behaved as though I needed space from Edward, that wasn't it at all. What I'd needed was to be able to proceed forward, not left to wait and wonder. That was why I was suffocating. No longer trapped in the purgatory of waiting, my chest opened up.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

I received some questions last time about the long period between chapters, so I thought I'd address those here. Real life did get in the way for a long time, and this is not a story I can, or will, quickly end for lack of time. I need to be in a place where I can devote my time to writing and research, and have these characters strongly in my head in order to give this story what I think it deserves. It wasn't easy for me to stay away so long, but I knew I'd be back when my head was in the right place again. I do expect my posting to be regular from here until the end. And I also appreciate everyone who is back and continuing to read! Thanks again for your continued reading and reviews. :)

Also, I'm believeitornott on twitter.


	30. Chapter 30

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**Warning: **Please note that most of this chapter is the Preliminary hearing and there is **detailed discussion of rape**. This could cause triggers for some people.

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 30

The night before the hearing, Edward's breathing was warm and rhythmic next to me as I tossed and turned. I looked at his face, his eyes moving behind his eyelids. He'd shaved and I wanted to touch his smooth skin, but was afraid to wake him. I tried to slow my breathing to match his, hoping it would send me to sleep. When it seemed I was quickening my breaths instead of slowing them, I got up, slipped the throw blanket off the end of the bed, and pulled my heaviest jacket over my arms. I moved out to the balcony. The air was freezing, wind stung my face.

Sitting down on the concrete, I looked out into the darkness. The sky was so thick and black it was as if stars had never existed. Time seemed to stand still. I felt the cool hardness of the concrete through the blanket as I imagined a life without court tomorrow; a life without rape; a life without James. I saw it: Edward and I were carefree. Our only arguments were what to eat for dinner, or maybe whose family we would visit on which holiday. In that life, when Edward and I made love we didn't have to be careful. In that life, Edward could possess my body however he wanted, and how I wanted him to. He would enter me fast and deep. He would touch my soul and I would feel it, and there would be no stopping. He wouldn't have to look at me every so often to make sure my eyes weren't closed up tight. When he touched or kissed my body, he wouldn't have to be wary of a stiffening in my bones or avoiding certain places on my neck, or to take care with his choice of words. And when we fell asleep afterwards in each other's arms, neither one of us would have to brace ourselves for dreams plagued with nightmares. When Edward and I made love in that life, it would be just the two of us all the time. Green eyes and brown. No James. No blue eyes. Ever. Maybe we would be making love right now and tomorrow we'd be on a plane to Forks.

Too cold, I went inside to heat water for tea. Leaving all the lights off, I moved as silently as I could. I flinched at the noise the water made as it filled the teapot. Over the stove, I let the water get scalding hot, draped a teabag over my cup, poured water over it, and then added one of the lemon ice cubes from the freezer to cool it down and add flavor.

"Can't sleep?" Edward's voice startled me from behind.

I groaned. "I tried to be so quiet." I held a cup out. "Tea?"

As I prepared his cup, he reached around and hugged me from behind, pushed my hair aside, kissed behind my ear.

We sat at the table sipping our tea. Neither of us spoke, communicating with our eyes. That was something we could do now. We could sit in a silence that was filled with love, and in that love, we could find a moment's peace. Even on a night like this with all that loomed ahead of us. And that, I told myself, was this life.

I went around to sit on Edward's lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, letting my head drop to his shoulder. When I closed my eyes I saw a courtroom, vast and unending. The whole world was the court. The judge was as big as the Empire State Building. And James was laughing. It was his old laugh, the only laugh of his I knew, really. The laugh of a friend, except that he was laughing at me in a way that was more unlike a friend than anything.

I opened my eyes to look at Edward, searching for that peace I knew I'd find. He smiled at me, and sad smile or not, I found that peace.

"You won't be alone," he said and fiddled with the ring on my pinky, my reminder.

The sun was on the rise. Edward cooked a huge breakfast while I got myself ready. The outfit, the presentation, was important I'd been told. Though I really wanted to wear a skirt, I knew there was just no way. Pushing myself to do something like that was much too risky when I'd be talking about details, and right in front of James. I wore black slacks and a white shirt - looked like a simple day at the office, if I had an office. My makeup was light, lipstick one shade darker than my natural color. In the mirror I looked a little bit thin, a little bit gaunt. I added some undereye concealer and a touch more blush. Those extra touches made a difference. Appearances, I thought. Today was about appearances. Even my testimony and Edward's testimony would have to appear as factual as they were.

On the kitchen table there were eggs, toast, bacon, pancakes, sausage links, and a huge bowl of fruit. The breakfast took up the entire table.

"Wow," I said. "I'm not even hungry."

"That's why I made everything." He was adding pancakes to his plate. "There's got to be something here that looks good to you."

I spooned some fruit into a bowl - orange, apple, and pineapple slices. After a few bites of the fruit, the pancakes started to look delicious. I took two. Edward smiled.

We ate holding the plates over our laps; there was no room left on the table.

We left our apartment at 8:30. We were to meet my dad, who would be coming from his hotel uptown, in front of the courthouse.

Rosalie had advised me to pick an image that had nothing at all to do with my case to keep in my mind throughout the hearing, as needed. As Edward and I stepped outside our apartment building, I found my image. The old woman was leaning out her window as usual, watching the street below. I waved to her.

"What's your name?" I called up to her. I wanted a name to go with my image.

She called back in a voice so delicate I couldn't hear her. I just waved again.

"Do you know her name?" I asked Edward, who'd thrown an arm over my shoulder.

He shook his head, looking down at me with a slight smile on his face. He gave a little exhale of a laugh. He couldn't have known or understood why wondering about this woman's name would be on my mind today of all days. Nor did he ask about it.

It turned out not to matter anyway. I wouldn't use her image once during my testimony. It wouldn't even cross my mind.

The preliminary hearing, I learned from the Assistant District Attorney, was where we'd prove to the judge that we had a case for rape against James. If the judge agreed, we'd move forward with the trial at a later date. If the judge disagreed, he'd dismiss the case. James would be free. Both Randall, the ADA, and Rosalie had warned me that cases like this are often drawn out for six months to a year. I decided not to think about that.

Outside the courtroom, the wait was forever. Minutes - no, every second- crawled. My emotions were in combat. I was impatient, wanting to get in there and get it over with, while dreading ever going in there at all. Randall had explained as much as he could in terms of what I should expect. This was "the people" versus "the defendant." This was no longer my case, which was hard to wrap my head around. I was now a witness for The State. As was Edward. We would testify and the defense attorney would have the opportunity to cross examine us if he so chose.

On a cushioned bench, Edward and Rosalie were seated on either side of me. My dad was already inside the courtroom. Edward, on my left, couldn't stop moving. His leg was bobbing up and down. He kept pulling his phone out to check the time and then sweeping a hand through his hair. I touched him and he stilled. I took his face into my hands. Our eyes met. I thought I was going to tell him something comforting, to calm some of his nerves.

"How am I going to do this?" I said, in spite of myself.

He brought his forehead to rest against mine. "You're going to take one long mind-clearing deep breath, and then you'll go in there and do the best you can."

Edward went in for testimony first. He didn't look back at me before going through the door. I worked hard at trying to keep myself as calm as humanly possible, while time moved impossibly slower.

I turned to Rosalie. "Feel my face. Does it feel warm?" I touched my own face. She kept her hands to herself.

"What's wrong? What's going on, Bella?"

"My face feels all hot while the rest of my body is cold, almost numb. And there's tingling everywhere above my neck, like faint pins and needles."

Her hand came to my face then. "Your temperature feels normal. What you need to do is breathe. In your anxiety, you're holding your breath or something. Try to breathe."

I took some deep breaths which didn't seem to help.

Rosalie held my hands and had me focus on her. "Don't over do it," she said. "Don't take too deep of breaths, just try to breathe regular, okay?"

Little by little, the sensation started to ease up.

"When you're on that stand and you feel yourself holding your breath, you've got to remember to breathe. Will you do that?"

I nodded.

"You have to or you risk passing out. Do you understand?"

I nodded again.

"And when you're in there, you can't look at James. Not even a glance. All right? You look at me, Edward, or your father, whenever you want to, but never James. Not once."

After about forty minutes, which felt like forty hours, she and I went in together. It was my turn to take the stand. I took a deep breath, a long blink, and then I kissed my ring before walking through the door. My heart was racing, but I controlled my breathing the best I could, and held my head high. I would not face the floor.

It was like walking through tar, making my way to the witness stand, and the road seemed to grow farther away as I trudged along. _This is my life_, I thought.

James was sitting at the defense table. I refused to look straight at him, but I could see the blond from the corner of my eye, and I could also tell his hair was short. Up on the stand, a few times, I felt his eyes boring into me. I turned my head slightly, telling myself I was imagining it, just like I'd imagined his eyes on me so very many times. I probably was imagining it. For all I knew, he may have been examining his hands. For all I knew, he wasn't even really there, and that had been someone else with short blond hair.

Trying to avoid what felt like an audience in front of me, I kept my eyes confined to the closest of my surrounding - a little circle I'd drawn around myself. I thought of odd things: how when I lifted my head the ceiling above was so high I wondered if the room had an echo; how I barely had to reach to touch the microphone that curved toward me; how when I looked down I couldn't see my feet.

Stranger yet, when a bible was held out in front of me, as I swore myself in to the court, I thought I should've stepped into a church before coming here, brought Edward with me. Edward, whom I hadn't so much as glanced at yet, who had been sitting in my seat only minutes ago, who'd already given his testimony.

There were some scratches, dents, in the wooden ledge in front of me. I wondered what caused them. I'd noticed the whole courtroom was covered in matching dark wood: the walls, the benches, the stands. Were there random dents all over this place from past half-crazed defendants, prosecutors, and witnesses?

These were the things that went through my mind as I waited for everything to begin. One of my fingers played with a dent in front of me. My nail scraped and dug at it, made it a little bit bigger.

There was my mark.

Someone poured a glass of water and set it before me. I watched it until the waves in the glass calmed, until Randall cleared his throat, his chair groaning against the floor as he pushed it out, and I heard his feet scuffle toward me. The sound his shoes made didn't echo. But his voice seemed to when he first spoke. That first word was big and strong, like the first bold or oversized word that began a new chapter of many books I'd read.

Randall appeared to be in his early thirties, even with his receding hairline. At our first meeting, I almost asked him how many rape cases he'd handled, and how many he'd won. I was too afraid of the answers to actually ask the questions.

Randall led me through questioning to describe the rape and everything leading up to it. This experience was nowhere close to how it had been when I'd talked about it in Rosalie's office. There were so many more people involved this time, including my father, and the room was so much bigger and colder. And I had to get into real detail, much deeper than I'd gone in Rosalie's office. Randall was there with all the right questions, though, to make sure I covered everything, sometimes even clarifying a particular answer more than once.

I thought I was handling myself well. The way Randall spoke to me and asked the questions, gave me the impression we were talking about someone else. It wasn't me this happened to. The one time tears got the better of me was when he asked me about my protests.

I explained that I'd said "no" and "stop" many times. "I begged him not to hurt me," I said, and my tears dropped.

I tried to avoid looking at Edward, afraid of how much that statement would pain him. I couldn't stop myself, though. My gaze moved toward him on its own. His eyes were glistening, but he gave me the best smile he could. Same with my dad. The supportive smile.

When Randall was through, the cross-examination came.

It had not occurred to me for a second that the judge might believe no rape had taken place. To me, that was impossible. All the evidence, Edward as a witness - it all seemed obvious. But attorneys, they get paid well for a reason, and James's father had the money to pay.

His attorney was Mr. Laurent, with a smile that was almost bigger than his face. A smile that looked fake. His every word was like a misplaced exclamation point. An intrusion.

Even-so, he acted friendly, smiled that smile. I didn't trust him.

Mr. Laurent anchored himself in front of me shooting me a line of questions that I answered robotically. It must have taken him fifteen or more minutes just to establish that I was a grad student at NYU, that I was "smart," and that I was the daughter of a police chief with a broad understanding of the law. None of his questions - though seemingly unnecessary - really shocked me or caused any reaction from me until he asked me if I'd had sexual intercourse the night before the "alleged offense."

I hesitated, shifted in my seat.

Randall's objection to this was the first of many. "This question is irrelevant, your honor."

The judge answered that "Miss Swan's past sexual relations are not to be brought up at this hearing."

"Your honor, these questions aren't to suggest that Ms. Swan is sexually promiscuous. Sexual intercourse under twenty-four hours prior to the alleged event does pertain to evidence submitted by the prosecution."

This changed the judge's mind. He would allow the question.

"Yes," I said when the question was repeated.

"How many times?"

"What?" I asked as Randall simultaneously objected.

Mr. Laurent turned to the judge. "No forensic evidence of my client's penetration exists. Genital trauma was minor. The possibility of the trauma having been caused by multiple sexual relations is plausible."

My heart dropped. Whether or not the judge would allow this, I'd heard "no forensic evidence of penetration." The realization that they were actually building a case toward a false rape charge caught me so off guard that I now understood the feeling of being hit with a ton of bricks. My head was swimming, my face heating up. In that moment I also understood that if Edward had gotten to my apartment a little later, perhaps after ejaculation, or in the least, after more harm was caused to my insides, enough time for any sign of James's DNA to be found inside of me, then they wouldn't have this argument. Bile filled my throat. Hammers pounded my head.

I looked at Randall for help but his attention was on the judge. My eyes shifted to Rosalie, sitting next to my father, and she was looking back at me. I saw her lips moving slow to mouth the words, "You're okay. Breathe."

I fondled my ring, slid it up and down my finger, and found Edward's eyes. I began to calm down somewhat.

"… genital trauma was stated as unusual to consensual intercourse-" Randall was saying.

"Without my client's DNA found inside the vagina, penetration becomes one's word against another. I'd like the chance to verify that the accuser understands the physical effects vigorous, or multiple consensual sexual relations can have on the body," Mr. Laurent said.

The objection was overruled.

"Ms. Swan, how many times did you have sexual intercourse the night before you reported the alleged assault?" How was he able to keep his voice so smooth and level?

I didn't answer until he repeated the question.

"Twice," I said, "and Edward was gentle with me. He'd never hurt me." I elaborated hoping to avoid being asked the question about "vigorous" sex.

Mr. Laurent nodded. "Would you agree, Ms. Swan, in the possibility of sexual activity becoming more vigorous without your awareness, due to hyper sexual-" he cleared his throat "-euphoria? Vigorous enough to cause slight injury?"

"I'm going to object, your honor," said Randall, standing. "This is a compound question. It requires two answers."

"Break up the questions," the judge ordered.

"Do you admit to the possibility that vigorous sex could cause slight injuries to the genitalia?"

I took a deep breath. "I suppose it could."

"Your answer is yes?"

"Yes, it's possible. I don't know. I'm not an expert."

"What about the possibility of intercourse becoming rougher in the heat of the moment, without the partner's awareness? Do you agree with that?"

"No."

"You're saying that's impossible?" He laughed, as if my answer was silly or to imply that I was lying.

"For me, it's impossible. I would be aware of it. And this was my first time with Edward. I was very aware of what we were doing. Overly aware." I saw a twitch in his eyebrows, and that gave me a burst of confidence. "And I think Edward must have also taken care of what he was doing because it was our first time together."

"First two times, don't you mean?"

"Yes," I said. I took a drink of my water. His line of questioning changed. Had he proven his point? I wasn't sure.

"You've testified that the defendant, James Garrett, was your friend. Did you trust Mr. Garrett?"

"Yes."

"And you considered him your best friend?"

"One of them."

"Did Mr. James Garrett love you?"

"I'm going to object again," Randall said. "This is irrelevant. The defense is hoping to get a rise out of Miss Swan."

"I'm establishing the accuser's prior relationship with the defendant. Where's the irrelevancy?"

"How is she to know Mr. Garrett's feelings?" Randall changed his argument.

Mr. Laurent asked to rephrase the question, and the judge agreed.

"Did James Garrett ever tell you he loved you?"

"He said it, but I don't believe it."

"At the time James Garrett told you he loved you, did you believe it?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it true that you loved Mr. Garrett, also?"

"Only as a friend loves another friend."

"But, love, nonetheless?"

"Yes." It was a whisper.

"Please speak up."

"Yes."

"You know the defendant well, then? Well enough to read his moods, would you say?"

"Yes."

"You testified earlier that Mr. Garrett had a bad temper. Did he seem angry to you at any time on the day in question?"

"Many times."

"Did you feel threatened by him many times, as well?"

"Yes."

He gave the judge a long look. I swallowed hard in incomprehension of where he was going with this.

Mr. Laurent gave me his smile. "Why then, knowing your best friend's bad temper, did you remain in the apartment after the first sign of threat?"

"I-I didn't think he would hurt me."

"You testified that he took hold of you and tried to kiss you without your consent. Why didn't you think he would hurt you?"

"I did by that time."

"Then why didn't you attempt to leave at that point?"

"I-I don't know. I told him to leave first. I thought he would leave."

"How much time passed between the moment you first felt threatened by James to the moment you asked him to leave?"

"I'm not sure."

"Would you say fifteen minutes?"

"Longer than that."

"Twenty or thirty minutes?"

"That sounds right, I guess. I wasn't timing it. I was expecting Edward at noon, so I think that's right."

He walked back to his table, checked a paper from his open briefcase and came back to me.

"Three months after your initial statement of the alleged assault, you reported that James Garrett had lifted you by the arms, and that he shook you?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you share this bit of information in the initial report?"

"I couldn't remember. I had a head injury!" I knew the head injury wasn't why I'd forgotten some of the details. I had been all too focused on having been raped by James. But his attorney was trying to insinuate that I had lied.

"Three months is a long time to wait to report additional claims. When you reported the claim of alleged grabbing and shaking in September, was it because you were afraid there wasn't enough evidence for a conviction?"

"Objection, your honor," said Randall. "This isn't a trial." He sounded exasperated.

"On what grounds do you object?" the judge asked.

"Mr. Laurent is misleading Isabella. It isn't unprecedented for a victim to offer follow-up evidence regardless of what evidence has or hasn't previously been reported."

"I've offered reason to believe that sexual penetration was fabricated, and I can provide probable cause," Mr. Laurent explained to the judge.

"Objection sustained."

Mr. Laurent turned his attention back on me without missing a beat. "You signed the police report, didn't you, Ms. Swan?"

"Yes."

"Did you read it before signing it?"

"I did."

"Didn't you notice that Mr. Garrett's shaking you hadn't been noted on the police report?"

"I must have missed it. It wasn't exactly an easy thing to read."

"Why did it take you three months to report the alleged shaking?"

"I don't know. But there are pictures of the bruises on my arms that were taken at the hospital."

"And yet you didn't explain how they got there?"

"I can't remember. It went by so fast."

His eyes narrowed. "You can't remember. When James allegedly lifted you and shook you, do you remember if that hurt?"

"Yes, I remember. It hurt."

"You endured twenty or thirty minutes of fear, you were hurt physically, and yet all that time, you still remained in James Garrett's presence?"

We were back to that. Was he trying to prove something or was he just trying to confuse me and tire my mind? I couldn't let that happen.

"I tried to leave. He pulled me back and slammed my head against the wall!"

"Yes, you tried to leave… eventually. Wasn't his, as you say, _slamming your head against the wall_, an accident?"

"Objection. She can't read his mind, your honor."

"Sustained."

"Did the defendant tell you it was an accident?" Mr. Laurent changed his approach

"He said it was an accident."

"Do you think James Garrett purposely slammed your head against the wall?"

"I don't know."

"Objection."

Mr. Laurent explained himself again. "Ms. Swan testified that she could read James well. I believe she knows that the head injury wasn't intentional."

The back of my head throbbed. My hand reached for it.

"Rephrase the question," the judge said.

"Do you believe the head injury was intentional?"

"No."

"It wasn't intentional?"

"He intentionally pulled me back and threw me to the ground to keep me from leaving. I don't think he knew I would hit my head."

"After James Garrett tormented you for thirty minutes and physically hurt you to the point of blacking out, were you angry with him?"

"Of course."

"On a scale of one to ten, how angry were you?"

"Ten."

"I'd say that's angry enough to want to see him behind bars, wouldn't you, Ms. Swan?"

My attorney objected again, and again Mr. Laurent explained that he was leading up to prove motive of fabricated penetration. I knew he was working his angle to possibly get the case of rape thrown out or maybe even a plea bargain for a lesser charge. Even a charge of "attempted rape" would offer James a shorter sentence, and earlier possibility of parole.

"I wasn't thinking of jail," I said. "I was thinking of safety."

"Yes or no answer, please. After physically hurting your hand, your arms, and your head, was your anger toward your friend, James Garrett, enough to want to send him to prison?"

I took a minute before answering. I didn't know what to say. I was trapped with this question. If I answered that I wanted to see James in jail at that time, maybe Mr. Laurent would have made his point of my possible motive to lie about rape. But I'd already answered that my anger had been at a ten. If I didn't give Mr. Laurent the answer he was after, how would I look to the judge? Like a liar? I decided that making me look like a liar was exactly what Mr. Laurent wanted. I wouldn't allow that.

I said, "Yes."

"Were you angry enough to call the assault rape to worsen the sentence?"

I looked over at Randall expecting to hear an objection. None came. I knew this was an objectionable question. Randall wanted me to answer it. Mr. Laurent repeated the question.

"It was rape."

"So you've stated. You do realize, Ms. Swan, that penetration must occur to be considered rape in the first degree?"

At this, Randall objected. "We've already established that Miss Swan clearly understands the definition of rape."

"I'll rephrase. Was there_ really_ penetration, Ms. Swan?" He was shaking his head at me as if that was enough to get me to shake mine as well. "Remember you are under oath."

"Yes. There was! He penetrated me! I was raped! James raped me!"

"Calm down, Ms. Swan," he said with a smile. "Are you trying to convince the court, or yourself?"

"Objection!" Randall shot from his seat. "This is badgering!"

"Withdrawn," said Mr. Laurent with a shake of his hand. He was behaving as if my outburst had been an act. I didn't know which end was up with this guy. I kept getting turned over. I tried to breathe.

"Do you need a moment to compose yourself?" he asked me, his voice low, as if concerned.

I shook my head just to defy him, then realized that may have been exactly what he was after - working me up into anger and then getting me to deny my own break after becoming so upset. He was quick, this one. I glared at him.

"Very well. Backing up," he said. "After you hit your head, do you recall my client bending over you to apologize, stating it was an accident?"

"Yes."

"Did he seem angry at this point?"

"No."

"He was calm at this point, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Did you feel threatened by him at this point?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure that's what you stated in your report?"

"No, I mean, I was confused. I thought he was going to help me."

"If you believed he was going to help you, is it fair to say you did not feel threatened at this point?"

"Not just then, no."

"And you believed him when he apologized?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know one way or the other, whether you believed him or not?"

"It's hard to answer that because I was - I'd hit my head and when my head cleared a little more, I knew I didn't believe him. But in that very moment, when my head was… I might have believed him. I don't…"

"If you thought he was going to help you, wouldn't it be fair to say you believed his apology?"

"Yes." I let out a deep exhale.

"And this is when you testified you felt him moving your skirt, correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you protest to that?"

"I was still confused. Everything was dark."

"But you knew he was lifting your skirt and removing your underpants?"

"Yes."

"At this point were Mr. Garrett's clothes on?"

"Yes."

"And when your vision cleared, where was Mr. Garrett?"

"On top of me."

"All of his weight on you?"

"Yes."

"Was he heavy?"

"Yes."

"Were you squirming or fighting him off?"

"Yes."

"Was it easy to move under him?"

"No, he was too heavy. I could barely move."

"And all of his clothes were on?"

"No, wait. When he was on top of me his pants were down."

"If he put all of his weight on you when his clothes were on, then how is it that his pants were down?"

"No, I meant he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down before he put his weight on me."

"How do you know he unbuckled his pants?"

"I saw him."

"But you stated that when your sight cleared, all of his weight was on top of you."

"Not yet. No. I stated that wrong."

"When you could see again, James wasn't on top of you?"

"He was on top of me, but not all of his weight was on me yet."

"And that was just after he apologized to you? Your vision cleared, you saw him on top of you, but not all of his weight was on you?"

"Yes."

"Yes. And let's be honest, Ms. Swan, wasn't that when Mr. Masen arrived on the scene, grabbing James and threatening to kill him, causing my client to flee?"

Did Mr. Laurent realize how much I _wished_ I could say yes to this question?

"Not yet. Edward wasn't there yet. And when Edward did get there, I never heard him threaten to kill James. I only knew that James was gone, and Edward was helping me."

"At what point did Mr. Masen arrive?"

"Right after… when James was first inside of me."

"And you claimed only one thrust before he stopped?" The look on his face was one of disbelief.

"Before Edward stopped him."

"Your claim is that Edward stopped him after just one thrust, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"But Edward Masen's statement doesn't coincide with yours, does it?"

"_What_?" My eyes shot to Edward. The look of fear on his face seemed to match mine. Something was happening that felt bigger than the courtroom.

"Objection," Randall said. "Miss Swan has no knowledge of Mr. Masen's testimony."

"It is not unreasonable to suggest that Edward Masen arrived on the scene _before_ penetration, your honor. The court heard Mr. Masen testify that Mr. Garrett's pants appeared as though they were still on, and he asked for confirmation from Ms. Swan regarding whether my client had penetrated her."

"Edward Masen isn't on the stand," the judge said. "Only address questions to Miss Swan that pertain to Miss Swan."

Mr. Laurent went to his briefcase, shuffled through some papers appearing to look for something. He turned his attention back to me, approaching again.

"What was the first thing you heard Mr. Masen say to you when he arrived on the scene?"

"My name."

"After that," he said with a slight laugh.

I glanced over at Edward; there was murder in his eyes. Tears fell from mine.

"Do you remember what Mr. Masen said to you?"

I nodded.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Can you answer Mr. Laurent's question, Miss Swan?" the judged asked.

"He said, 'Tell me I'm not too late.'"

"Pardon?" Mr. Laurent asked, a hand cupping his ear.

"Tell me I'm not too late," I said, louder. The words came from my chest.

"Edward Masen wasn't certain there was penetration. Is that correct?"

Randall objected again, as I wouldn't be able to testify to Edward's thoughts. It was sustained.

"Did Mr. Masen ever tell you that Mr. Garrett's pants were not pulled down?"

"He-he - James's pants weren't pulled down. He-"

"A few minutes ago, didn't you state to the court that Mr. Garrett pulled his pants down?"

I paused and stared at him.

"Ms. Swan, please tell the court the truth about Mr. Garrett's pants. Were they up or down?"

I took a moment to breathe a few times before answering slowly. "Okay, James unbuckled his pants, but they weren't down, and then he like, he pulled himself out of his pants."

"You mean he pulled his penis out?"

My stomach lurched inside of me. I pushed tears from my face. They fell fast. "Yes."

"Did you see him do this?"

"No. I saw him unbuckle his pants, but then I panicked and I wasn't looking any longer."

"Then when you testified that he pulled his penis out, was that an assumption?"

"Yes, I-"

"You don't know for sure whether his pants were up or down?"

"Edward said that they looked like they were still on, so the only thing possible is he pulled out his-" I closed my eyes and said through grated teeth "-he pulled himself out. I-I can't-"

My shoulders slumped, my head fell, and I wept into my hands. The thought of saying the word "penis" in reference to James tipped the scale too far. My mind lost any balance it had. I could no longer keep images away. I saw James and what he did to me. My entire body was shaking, and then I shook my head. James would not overpower me in my own mind. And it was the actual flesh-and-bones James that rid me of those images. Him being in the room, perhaps watching me, was where I found strength. He could not see me like this. He could not see how deep his actions affected me. Images gone, I lifted my face. All of this must have happened in only a few seconds, if that. I heard Randall's voice.

"I'd like to request a recess, your honor. May we take five minutes?"

"Where does the defense stand?" the judge asked.

"I have very few follow up questions left," Mr. Laurent said.

"Let us finish up. We'll give Miss Swan a moment, here. Do you need a tissue, Isabella?"

I sat up straight, wiped my face with the backs of my hands. There were no dry spots left on the fronts of them. "I'm okay," I said. I just wanted to get it done with. Get off that stand. Taking a recess would only mean I'd have to get myself back up here five minutes later.

"One more question about the pants." Mr. Laurent's voice was soft. It was the most caring he had sounded toward me throughout his questioning. "Before you and Mr. Masen spoke about it, did you know if Mr. Garrett's pants were down or not?"

"No, I didn't. I assumed they were down."

"And Edward asked you for confirmation of forced penetration, of rape?"

"He hoped he got there before James raped me, but he didn't. Edward got there after. When he pulled James off of me, I felt it." I paused as a few sobs escaped, the only few I would allow. "I felt James leave from inside of me. It hurt. It was a tearing pain that hurt almost just as bad as when he forced himself into me. _Penetrated_ me," I said, looking Mr. Laurent in the eyes. And I saw it. I saw a look come over his face. It was something like uncertainty. Like he knew that my testimony had just squashed his bogus theory.

Glancing over at Randall, I saw him give me the slightest nod.

"Ms. Swan, a yes or no answer only, please," Mr. Laurent said, and he'd had to clear his throat. "Did Edward Masen ask you for confirmation of rape by asking if he was too late? Yes, or no?"

"Yes."

And then Mr. Laurent said what I was waiting to hear.

"Nothing further."

"Redirection?" the judge asked.

Randall stood. "I have just a few."

The judge gestured for him to again question me.

"A couple minutes is all I need, Isabella," Randall said. "Would you like a swallow of water?"

I took one.

"Okay." He looked at me as if to ground me. His eyes were gray, and I stayed with them.

Two more minutes, I told myself. Hold yourself together for two more minutes. I exhaled slowly through my mouth.

"After Mr. Masen asked you if he was too late, did you voice an answer to him?"

"No."

"You did not give verbal confirmation?"

"No, I did not." And I knew where Randall was going with this. I wanted to thank him now for his redirect. He could prove that Edward was certain I'd been raped before I ever gave him confirmation. Edward never needed confirmation that he was too late. He'd only been hanging on to hope.

"Did you shake your head no or nod your head yes?"

"No."

"How was it confirmed to Mr. Masen that James Garrett forced intercourse on you?"

"I assume he just knew. I'm not sure."

"And again, Mr. Masen was the one who put your underwear back on?"

"Yes."

"Okay. And after Mr. Masen asked you if he was too late, there wasn't any verbal confirmation from you either way?"

"No. I couldn't talk. I didn't even want to admit it to myself."

"You did not move your head to confirm or deny?"

"No."

"And how did you know at that time that Edward Masen understood forced intercourse had taken place?"

"Because he was crying and saying that he was sorry while he hugged me."

"Did Mr. Masen do or say anything else at that time that would show you, Isabella, that he knew penetration had occurred?"

"I don't remember."

"Who called 9-1-1, Isabella?"

My eyes widened. "Edward did."

"Who told the emergency operator that a rape had occurred?"

"Edward."

"Did you ask Mr. Masen to make the call?"

"No."

"Edward Masen was the one to report the rape even without a verbal, or gestured, answer from you that there had been penetration?"

"Yes."

"The prosecution rests," he told the judge.

I was invited to leave the witness stand and to sit at the prosecution's table. I felt someone, my dad or Edward, squeeze my shoulder from behind. I didn't turn around.

The closing arguments were long and detailed, my attorney closing with the argument that we had provided probable cause, a rape had occurred, and James's attorney arguing that the charge of rape be dismissed due to a false claim of penetration. He included his theory about how I fabricated the claim. He said that being the daughter of a police chief, having a broad knowledge of the law, I would know that without DNA evidence and little to no genital trauma, my best chance would be to claim only one thrust.

The judge addressed the court. "Let me remind everyone that this hearing is not a trial," he said. "My ruling does not determine innocence or guilt; it's a determination of whether or not I've heard enough facts to send this case before a grand jury." He ruled then. The defendant, James Garrett, would be detained on all charges - including rape in the first degree.

It could be assumed that the first thing I did upon hearing the judge's ruling was take a relieved breath. That wasn't what I did. The first thing I did was turn to look for Edward's face. He was looking down, a hand in his hair. I couldn't see his face, and my sight was starting to blur. Relief never came.

Somehow I was outside the courtroom. My dad and Edward traveled toward me at the same time. My dad made it to me first, embracing me, squeezing tight, kissing my cheek. I did not return the hug. I was gone. I felt nothing. When my dad let me go, Edward stood where he was as if he understood the change in me. Our eyes met, but while his were full of emotion, mine were not. My eyes were round, blank circles in my head expressing nothing. He tilted his head in question. A question I would not answer.

Conversations were happening around me, but everything was in a haze, gray. I was in a deep, damp fog.

Outdoors I couldn't tell you if it was sunny or raining, if it was cold or warm. Perhaps there was a fog thick enough to match my own. Thick enough to hide huge buildings.

My head did not begin to clear until I was standing in the middle of my dad's hotel room. He was unlocking the door to the adjoining room. Holding the door open, he offered his arm out for me to enter first.

"What's this?"

"It's your room," he said. "You're welcome to stay here in mine if you want. I'm not sure exactly how you want to spend tonight." He squeezed my shoulder as I passed.

"Where's Edward?" I looked behind my dad, expecting to see him there.

"I'd assume he's at home." He shrugged.

"Why?"

"Bella, don't you remember?" His eyebrows raised. "You were in a fragile state. I suggested you come back here to be with me. You agreed."

"I did?"

"You nodded your head."

I could not remember any conversation that went on outside that courtroom.

"Rosalie went home, too?"

"You should get some rest, Bella."

I looked over at the bed, the big white comforter. I thought I would just lie down for a minute and then call Edward.

If one of the questions I'd been asked earlier was whether or not I thought I'd be able to sleep, I'd have answered with a definite no. But when my head found that hotel room pillow, sleep was instant.

It was emotional exhaustion.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I'm sorry if this was a difficult chapter to get through.


	31. Chapter 31

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight**

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 31

A knocking sound woke me. Disoriented, I sat up, waiting, unsure I'd heard anything at all. Another knock brought me back to my hotel room. I kicked the covers off. My room was near black and I had a chill, possibly from the air, more likely from the knock. The clock read 8:17. That old panic I was used to didn't lay off. As irrational as it may have been, I thought maybe it was James knocking, or his father, or his attorney.

I reminded myself that my dad was right next door to me.

Through the peephole I saw Edward, his head down, hands in his coat pockets. My heartbeat picked up speed, and no longer from panic. When I opened the door he didn't look up right away. His eyes, rough around the edges, were slow and cautious to meet mine. We were both frozen. I was able to manage the slightest smile from the corner of my mouth. Before my next breath, I was in his arms. He'd swept me into him, folded me up.

"I couldn't last this night without you," he said into my neck. "Not tonight." He kissed the curve of my neck at least a dozen times. They were fast kisses, one on top of the other. I thought they might never stop and that would have been fine with me.

I didn't speak, for fear I'd cry.

"Did I wake you? You were sleeping?"

I took his fingers after he let go of me and led him to the bed, where we slept facing each other, all of our clothes on. Our legs sandwiched each other, our hands clasped between us. He hadn't even removed his coat or shoes.

Our sleep was wakeful. Edward kept leaving me random kisses between my neck and shoulder. "Please forgive me," I heard him say. "For everything."

At one point, I told him he was beautiful. I meant his soul was beautiful, but I lacked the strength to clarify this. I hoped he understood, if he'd heard me at all.

I only slept for a couple of hours. I knew Edward was also awake, could tell by his breathing. His coat was off now. We were face to face, heads on pillows.

"Did I tell you not to come here or that I didn't want to go with you yesterday? I don't remember."

"No, not you. Your dad did. You agreed when he said you needed him. But I know you, Bella. Something was really off. You looked just like you did after you were told James was found. I searched for some indication that you wanted me around, but I couldn't find it. I had to do whatever you wanted. There was no choice. I thought you were mad at me for my testimony. I know I was. My police report was evidence, though - I couldn't lie, and I never thought they would use me as such a huge part of their defense."

He didn't give me a second to respond.

"I told them I knew what he'd done to you. I swear. I told them, deep down I knew it, but I hoped to be wrong."

"Edward-"

"James's lawyer was all over that uncertainty. If I'd hoped to be wrong, there must have been uncertainty. I didn't actually_ see_ the penetration, he said. You can't be a witness if you don't see the actual… act? It doesn't make sense. I saw enough. I saw your panties down, I saw how hurt you were, all curled up. I saw your eyes." He touched my face under my eyes, and I touched his cheek.

"Shh, Edward." I kissed his forehead.

"If I'd seen any more than that, James would be dead. Nothing would've stopped me. I'd be the one on trial right now."

"You don't have to explain it to me. I'm not mad at you and I never was."

"I know. At home, our apartment was too empty without you. When I tried to paint, I painted you. I saw your eyes on my canvas, looking at me. Brown and gold. They were your eyes, and I knew then how wrong I'd been. It wasn't like you to get mad about something like that. Hurt, maybe, but not mad. I was such an _idiot_ to let you go anywhere without me after everything that happened in court." His hands turned to fists. I touched them until they relaxed. "Maybe you thought I'd abandoned you in one of your darkest hours. I could never have you thinking that." He pushed my hair back. "But your dad? Getting you this room? Doesn't he know we want to be together by now?"

"Don't be upset with my dad. I think he needs me to need him. That's how trauma like ours works. And I meant to call you, Edward, before I fell asleep. He wasn't locking me away."

"I didn't mean to harp on your dad. I'm glad you got some sleep. Maybe if I'd been here, you wouldn't have been able to sleep."

I turned onto my back, looking up at the ceiling. Edward propped himself up on his arm, playing with the ends of my hair.

"That was hell in there," I said, still facing up.

"I know."

"I mean, if there is a Hell, that was it."

"I know, sweetheart." He kissed my temple.

I was grasping the sheet tight. Edward took my hand.

"And that wasn't even close to being the worst of it. Now I have to look forward to a bunch of jurors launching questions at me, and after that? As many interviews with Mr. Laurent as he thinks is necessary. He'll dig deep into my past and twist it all up. And he knows how to work me, and how to get me to react exactly the way he wants me to."

"Not all the time. You surprised him a few times."

"But he always had something up his sleeve. Every time."

Edward's thumb caressed mine, but I barely felt it. I pulled my hand away.

"He told me to remember I was under oath while he lied between his teeth!"

"I don't know how he can look himself in the mirror."

I turned to Edward. "He blamed my injuries on you." And there were my tears. I couldn't breathe. My heart and lungs were filling my throat.

He didn't say anything.

"I think that was the worst part."

"Worse than when I was practically turned into a witness for the defense?"

"Yes," I said. "Worse than that. They blamed the injuries that_ James_ gave me on you. Edward…" I could feel myself about to cry, really start sobbing. I held it back, I tried to swallow but my throat was too backed up. I couldn't swallow.

I started to take Edward's hand again but instead I raced to the bathroom, the toilet. Edward was close behind; he lifted my hair, he kissed my back, his fingertips rubbed my cheek. And I dry heaved. I heaved and heaved. My stomach contracted over and over as I heaved. And then the vomit came. I cried over the toilet, gasping for breath, wishing for the vomiting to stop.

"Don't look," I managed.

Edward was petting my head like he would a cat, while holding most of my hair in his other hand.

"It's okay, Bella. It's okay," he was saying over and over.

I shook my head, but more came. I couldn't believe there was that much of anything in my stomach to come out. I had to hold onto the top of the toilet to keep myself from falling over. Edward's arm wrapped my ribs to help steady me.

"Don't worry," Edward said. "It's fine. Let it out, sweetheart. It's okay."

When it finally ended, I rinsed my mouth over and over until I tasted nothing.

Behind me Edward was sitting on the bathroom floor, slouched against the wall. An elbow rested on his raised knee, his head in his hand. He looked spent. When he saw me turn toward him, he pulled me down, placed me in his lap, his touch gentle. "I'm so sorry, Bella. God, I wish I could make this stop."

"I know."

"Listen, whatever lies they make up, whatever anyone else believes, we know the truth. We know I'm not the one who injured you, and that's what matters. That's all that matters, okay?"

"Okay." I hugged him, offering the comfort I could, and then as if nothing at all had just happened, I stood. "I'm taking a shower." I said the words as regularly as if it was any other night.

I needed to think, by myself, and if I had to cry, I had to. I couldn't worry about holding it back the way I would if Edward was there. I knew it hurt him to see it. And if I cried in the shower, the water would rinse it away. It could be like it wasn't happening at all. It was just water.

He said he'd wait for me on the bed.

"Get some sleep," I told him.

After my shower, my hair toweled and finger-combed, a hotel robe wrapping my body, and my teeth brushed with the complimentary toothbrush, I joined Edward. He was sitting up - his back against the headboard - not sleeping. I crawled onto the bed and sat on my knees in front of him. He offered me his hand and I took it, playing with his fingers unconsciously.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm thinking about dropping the charges."

Edward's eyes closed as he nodded. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Yesterday wasn't the worst of it. The trial… Innocent until proven guilty. And how are they going to prove him innocent? By making me look guilty. And then, if after all that, James is acquitted? I don't think I could survive that."

"Then drop it, Bella. If you can't survive it, drop it. You need to survive." His fingers traced up my arm, under the sleeve of the robe. "_I_ need you to survive." He wrapped his index finger around my wrist, almost like a bracelet.

"You agree?"

"I saw what that did to you in there. I see what it's still doing to you." He brought me down to him. I listened to his echoed voice through his chest. "I hate what that attorney put you through. It was hard to watch, but I made myself. If that shit was happening to you, it would happen to me, too!"

"I'm glad you understand because I don't have the strength to argue."

"I know we've put James's conviction at the top of our list as far as justice goes. But there's another kind of justice, Bella, and that's both of us moving past this whole thing. I think that's the only real justice there is in our situation. It's the only justice we have any actual control over."

We were quiet, both of us soaking in what he'd said.

"Bella," he said. "When this is done, during your winter break, we'll go to the Caribbean like you said, or maybe Hawaii. Somewhere warm. We'll stay in the nicest hotel I can afford. We'll swim in clear water, we'll snorkel, we'll swim with fucking _dolphins_, Bella."

"Warmth," I said. The summer had been so hot and the fall so cold. Even if that coldness came more from me than the weather, I still longed for a mild temperature. "Not all your money, though."

"Not all of it. I'll use my art money. It's just sitting in the bank, anyway. It'll be spent on our vacation. I want that. We both deserve that."

"Well, I've been saving my tips from the coffee shack, and I've saved up about… um… $37.50. I think that's enough for a lunch out."

He let out a short laugh.

It had been a joke, but I couldn't smile. Not really.

"I just hope that someday I can give you as much as you've given me."

"Are you kidding? You give me just as much as I give you."

"I know you're just saying that."

"I'm not. I'm one hundred percent serious."

"You can't be. It's impossible."

"I wouldn't have said it unless I meant it."

We went quiet. There'd been enough talking. And minutes later we were asleep again.

Overcast daylight had made its way through the window when the phone rang, screeching. We jerked awake. Edward put a hand on me, I supposed to calm me in case the sudden noise had made me panic. Or maybe it was him who had panicked.

Edward answered on the next ring. In a groggy voice, I heard him say, "Send them up."

A vase full of sunflowers were delivered to our room about five minutes later. There was a handwritten note attached with a ribbon. They were from Emmett. He'd written that he wasn't sure if flowers were sent on these occasions, but that he'd hoped they'd bring us both a little brightness.

"Emmett? How does he know where we are?"

"I forgot to tell you!"

Edward explained that he never knew Emmett was coming to New York until he was already here. There was a text from Emmett after the hearing. He'd come to offer support to Edward. Only Edward hadn't taken him up on that offer yet. He wanted to be alone to paint if he couldn't be with me, and then he sent Emmett a text saying he was coming here.

"He's so nice," I said, smelling the flowers. "Such a good friend." I smiled.

Edward touched my lips. "At least he could get a smile out of you. Even if I couldn't do it, I'm glad it happened."

I told Edward that my heart had smiled when I'd spotted him through the peephole. "You just couldn't see it." My free hand was over his heart. He held it there against him.

We celebrated Thanksgiving in my dad's hotel room. He ordered room service. We had turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce, French fries, and apple pie. Emmett's sunflowers were our centerpiece.

My dad hadn't seemed a bit surprised when Edward came with me through the adjoining door. They greeted each other with a handshake. Then my dad hugged me and kissed my cheek.

"Bells," he said.

My dad poured us all a glass of champagne. It was such a somber glass of bubbly that it didn't seem right. But this was Thanksgiving, my dad had said.

We ate in silence, my dad the first to break it.

He looked so tired. There were bags under his eyes and his eyelids were puffy. He reminded me a bit of a drunk the way he could barely open his eyes, only I knew he wasn't drunk. I'd spent most of the night with Edward. He'd spent it alone. I never wished more than that moment that he had someone. My dad told me what _he_ wished for.

"I wish I could've taken your place on the stand. I'd have done that in a heartbeat. I'd sell my soul," he said. "But you were great. You were really, _really_ great." He eyed me so intensely, even trying to open his eyes up more.

"Dad." I shook my head. I wouldn't tell him now about what I was considering - not to continue with the trial. It was Thanksgiving. I'd tell him later; there was time.

"You were," Edward said, his hand squeezing my knee.

I played with the table cloth. I didn't want to talk about it.

After a bite of his sandwich, my dad spoke again. "You should talk to your mother about all of this. She has no idea what's going on with her daughter. And she might… she might understand. I think she can help you."

"Why?"

He didn't elaborate, his gaze shifting to the window. Was he changing his mind about something?

"Why would my mother understand, Dad? Why?" I waited, bracing myself. I was so used to doing that, it was automatic.

My dad glanced at Edward.

"Is this-" Edward started. "I mean, should I, should I give you privacy?"

"I've seen what you do for my daughter. And after what you did for her on the stand yesterday, you're family, son. Bells would tell you, anyway."

Edward put his arm around me. It was like he understood my father perfectly, like he knew that whatever my father had to tell me, I would need a shoulder to lean on. Edward's shoulder. In a way, I wanted Edward to leave the room for this. It had to be exhausting for him to always be my shoulder, and that was just when it came to me, but now for Edward to be the one to maybe hold me together when it pertained to my mother? How much of a basket case was I?

I sat forward in my chair, shrugging at Edward's arm until it fell away from me. Whatever my dad would tell me I'd take it on my own. And I was ready for the worst.

"It wasn't what you've been through, Bella. But similar in a way. What I mean is, it wasn't exactly forced, you understand?"

"No."

He told me that when my mother was young, she was involved with an older man. Someone twelve years her senior. It was consensual. She was sixteen and in love. He wasn't.

"He took advantage of her big time," my dad said.

That man made promises he never intended to keep. But how could she know at sixteen? He was the center of her world, and she believed she was the center of his. When she turned eighteen, finally old enough to marry him, he took off. Found some other young girl.

"She told you this?"

"Some of it, yes, but we lived in the same small community and people talk. And I saw a lot. I used to see them together."

My dad befriended her when she was brokenhearted. He was the one she'd told that she would never allow herself to fall in love again. With anyone. He knew that about her and married her anyway.

He married her knowing she might eventually leave him. And then she went through all those guys, maybe to protect herself from being with one long enough to love him.

"That doesn't explain how she could just drop me, though. I'm not one of those guys. I'm a part of her."

"She loves you, Bells, and I believe in her way she loved me once, too. But she doesn't know how to handle any kind of love. It scares her."

"So she gets her heart broken as a teenager and I'm supposed to forgive her for how she treated me in her thirties and forties? And forget about me, what about what she did to you? Neither of us deserved that, Dad. Neither of us asked for it."

"Don't misunderstand me, Isabella. I never said you had to forgive anything. It wasn't just a typical teenage broken heart, though. What this guy did to her, he'd have done time if she'd turned him in. Look, the reason I'm telling you this is because she let what happened to her harden her heart. She didn't take care of herself the way you're taking care of yourself. I want you to see clearly that you're on the right track - whatever setbacks you have - you're doing this right, and I don't want you ever to give up. I don't ever want to see you end up like her just to protect yourself."

"You mean because of my therapy?"

"Therapy, Edward, you. Your mother thought she was protecting herself, but really she was ruining herself for happiness. She's never allowed herself to be happy."

I took a moment to think about what my father was telling me and why. Why now? Why not earlier? Was he afraid I would let my heart harden? Or that I'd ruin myself for happiness? Not when I had someone like Edward.

But then… all those days I'd behaved so coldly to Edward. And similar to what my dad had said about my mom, I'd done it through some form of protection. And even just now, when I'd moved away from Edward when all he wanted to do was be there for me. I hadn't stopped to consider how that might make him feel. I turned to him and took his hand.

"I was so awful to you."

Edward shook his head while my dad called my name.

"You did what you had to," Edward said.

"No. I didn't have to treat you that way."

"It's in the past."

"Bella," my dad said, louder.

"I'm-"

"Isabella!"

When I looked at my dad he was rubbing his eyes with the base of his palms. "I didn't tell you this to give you a guilt trip. I don't know what's gone on behind your closed doors, but I know what I see. I told you all of this because you're on the right track, and I want you to stay on it. I have experience in these matters. I've seen young women in positions similar to yours turn to illegal, mind-altering drugs and worse, just to cope. You're coping the right way. The healthy way. That's all I meant by this. And I think that if you talked to your mother about it she would understand. She'd have advice for you. Believe me, Bella, she doesn't want you to end up like her, either. She's told me that a million times. I didn't-" My dad started to cry then. I could tell he was trying hard not to, but he couldn't stop it. He pulled himself together as best he could. "I didn't tell you this to make you feel guilty. I'd never want that. Maybe I…" He dropped his head into a hand.

I went to my dad and hugged him. "I'm glad you told me." I kissed his cheek. His skin was squishier than it used to be. " I understand what you meant by it. I do."

He hugged me back. Squeezed.

"I know you want to protect me. I'm lucky to have you for a dad," I said.

"You're healthy," my dad whispered. "Considering all you've been through you're as healthy as can be expected. I don't ever want to see that change, okay, my little girl?"

"Okay, my dad," I said and laughed a little just so I wouldn't cry. I already felt the tears on their way. They filled my eyes but I closed them and sent the tears back where they came from. I didn't let them out.

Maybe someday I would call my mom, if I was desperate for advice. It wouldn't be now. I wouldn't even know how to begin the conversation. If I had ever known how to talk to her, I no longer did.

My dad flew home that evening. He couldn't take more time off work, especially if he expected to take the time to attend the trial. I never told him that I wanted to drop the charges. After that conversation with my dad, without even a clue, he had me questioning my decision.

My dad had reserved the room for another night, so Edward and I took advantage of it. It was good to be away.

Neither of us had packed anything so we stuck ourselves in robes while housekeeping did our laundry. We sat up on the bed watching the 'Home Alone' movie marathon that was on TV. Edward had one arm around me as he used his other hand to draw with the hotel pen and paper tablet. It amazed me what he could draw with just one hand. I kissed his talented hand.

We'd missed the parade. Thanksgiving came and went as though it hadn't really been there at all.

I went to the window just to make sure the world was still there. A part of me might have hoped it wasn't. Edward stood beside me. We both stared out.

* * *

**A/N**: I want to thank you all for reading. I do appreciate reviews. I haven't had a chance to reply to everyone due to lack of time, but as this story is coming to a close, I'll make the time to reply.

Also, just a reminder that I'm far from an expert on this subject. The preliminary hearing from last chapter came from my research, but different states have different laws and court procedures. I tried to stick to the New York law as best I could.


	32. Chapter 32

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 32

We stumbled our way into Rosalie's apartment, tripping over this fluff-ball of a dog. Doc was his name, and he was the most feminine little boy dog I'd ever seen, with his curly white fur and upturned tail. That tail kept wagging, too, making it look like he was wiggling his hips. He ran circles around me and Edward, and so fast, though he never jumped up. I tried to pick him up.

"Hey, little softy," I said, bringing him to my cheek, but he was squirming to get down, and around and around he ran.

Rosalie was laughing. "He's not used to this many new people at once. He'll calm down soon. Doc! Come."

Doc didn't listen.

I found everything else about the apartment unsurprising, matching Rosalie to a T. The colors were as calm as she was, the furniture as sophisticated, and there were some antique pieces that could've been family heirlooms, inherited from a grandmother or someone. A large grandfather clock in the corner would soon chime the quarter hour. Nothing was out of place. Wild, rambunctious little Doc was the only thing cluttering up the apartment. He'd moved on from Edward and me and was now circling furniture.

When Doc didn't calm down as Rosalie had predicted, Emmett picked him up and closed him in a bedroom. For a little while there came claw scratches that sounded like pencils scraping against the door. Then it went quiet.

The quiet was good for me, as my news wasn't the kind that went along with spinning, tripping, hip-wagging dogs. My kind of news, I was sure, was the kind you broke quickly in the quiet. The only way to break my news was band-aid-ripping fast. I spit it out.

I told her I thought I wanted to drop the charges and end the trial.

"Are-are you sure?" She caught herself on the back of the sofa, losing her footing - the first time I'd ever seen her falter like that, lose her composure. Emmett placed a hand on her back.

"Not completely."

"You know you can do this. You know you're strong enough to get through this, don't you? And you have a whole team of support behind you. A _team_, Bella. And I can prescribe you something if you want, to take the edge off.

"Edward?" Rosalie said when I didn't answer.

"She's strong, I agree." His hand was on my back, though, as if to keep me balanced, just as Emmett had done for Rosalie. "But it's Bella's decision." His hand was off me now. I looked at him. "She just wants to put it all behind her."

"Bella." She tilted her head at me. "Often times the woman gets just the kind of closure she needs through a trial. The kind where she really can begin to put everything behind her."

I didn't say anything, nor could I hold eye-contact with her.

"Edward." She turned to him, raised her eyebrows, and though she'd stopped talking, I could almost feel the wheels turning in her mind. She was surprised by Edward's submission. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing formed. Her mouth closed again and she nodded. Over and over she nodded and looked down.

"Have you told your attorney?"

"I have an appointment with him on Monday."

"Do you want me there?"

"Edward's coming with me," I said.

"Okay, well, you said that your mind isn't completely made up?"

I shrugged.

"You asked me once how I got through my trial."

I glanced at Emmett, but he didn't seem shocked. There was something in his eyes, though it wasn't surprise. She must have told him.

"You wouldn't answer," I said.

"The truth is, Bella, I didn't have the chance to go to trial. They never caught my rapist. I never saw his face and couldn't identify him."

Emmett's arm wrapped Rosalie's shoulders. She didn't look like she needed it, standing straight-shouldered and tall. She'd faltered for me, but not herself. I knew enough by now to understand that Emmett's offering of comfort was more for him than for her.

"Edward's right. In the end, it's your decision to make. The reason I decided to tell you this is because I was able to eventually put it behind me without a trial. I got through it with group therapy, like I told you before, and later by helping to put away other rapists. And I would help to put away yours, too. If you decide to go through with the trial."

"Did they all work out? Did they all get put away?"

I saw her chest rise with a deep breath, which was enough of an answer for me. "They don't all have the evidence your case has."

I told her that I'd let her know when my final decision was made.

Emmett wanted to talk to Edward alone, and as they disappeared into Rosalie's room, the dog came barreling out. He eased the tension between Rosalie and me by spinning more circles around me, and then practically collapsing, he lay between us. We laughed.

"Psycho dog," Rosalie said. She didn't mention anything more about the trial, and we didn't talk about Emmett or relationships, either. She asked me about school and I asked her about her antiques.

~::::::~

Back at our apartment, it took a while to familiarize myself with the place again. We'd gone straight from the hotel to Rosalie's, and now as I returned home, I felt the need to reacquaint myself with every room, as if I'd been away for weeks. I walked around greeting each room.

In the art room, the portrait of me Edward had told me about was resting on the easel. It was unfinished and he'd done it from memory, and still there was so much realism in it. My eyes looked alive. Those were the eyes he'd been looking at that sent him to the hotel looking for the real me.

"Bella?" Edward said as I started to wander into our bedroom.

I turned but he didn't say anything. He was heading toward me, rounding the sofa.

"Yeah?" I said.

His hand moved to the back of my neck, under my hair, a soft touch. "I love you," he said, and covered my mouth with his before I could say it back.

It was the middle of the afternoon and we went to bed. We slept for hours and hours and when we woke, neither of us were sure about what day it was.

~::::::~

On Monday, in his office, Randall sat behind a huge, L-shaped desk built of such thick mahogany, it looked about as heavy as a car. Papers and files were scattered on top. And he held a pen in his hand that he would randomly tap. He tapped it a few times before he told us that the prosecution and defense had been working on a plea arrangement.

"It doesn't appear the defense is going to accept the plea because they want the first degree rape charge reduced. We won't be offering that."

"What's being offered?" I asked.

"As of now, we're willing to recommend to the judge a lesser sentencing. Fewer years. A recommendation, of course, is no guarantee for them. The judge could easily slap him with the maximum sentence."

"You don't think James will accept that?"

"It doesn't appear that way, no."

"Because they think James has a chance to win? They believe he might get off?"

Randall didn't say anything. I saw him take a file from his right and place it in front of him. Did he not care about the question I'd just asked? He wasn't even looking at me. He was opening that file, tapping his pen over it a few times.

"Why should we bother?" I asked, and he looked at me then. "Why should _I_ put myself through all of this?" I was beginning to yell at him, standing up. "Just so he can get off? I don't understand this legal system and this country. This is the worst thing that can happen to a person, and _I'm_ still living it! It isn't going away - and for what?"

He put a hand out as if to ask me to calm myself. Edward, standing with me, placed an arm around my shoulders, asking the same of me.

"Isabella," Randall said. "Listen for a minute. Sit down."

I complied, though my hands were still shaking with my anger.

"Here's what we have: we have physical injuries that coincide with your description of events, scrapes on your back, bruising to your arms and legs, teeth marks on your hand where DNA was found that matches the defendant's, as well as his DNA around your lips, and on your throat."

My hand went automatically to my throat as if the lips that left their saliva were still there.

"We have a head injury, and we do have evidence of genital trauma. The trauma may not be as severe as we see in many forcible sexual assaults, but it is there, and Dr. Cullen documented that it was trauma_ unusual_ to that of consensual sex. We have your testimony, Edward's, a detective's, the first officers' on your case, Dr. Cullen's...

"And look-" he leaned closer "-I have no doubt that they will continue to contest penetration. Why do I believe this? Because it's the only-" he pinched his thumb and index finger together "- minuscule straw they have. The defense didn't attempt to prove that James did not try to keep you in the apartment or that he didn't physically assault you. They didn't try to prove that you gave consent. There is too much evidence to the contrary. Arguing against penetration in a preliminary hearing? I can see why that would seem frightening to you, and maybe huge, but Isabella, it also suggests that rape was attempted. They did not contest attempted rape. Do you see?"

He didn't let me answer, and began listing on his fingers, beginning with his thumb. "He can't deny his identity. He'll never win a case contesting physical assault. He can't win claiming consent. What else can he do?

"If I'm right - which I am - at the very_ least_, James'll be convicted on the charges of physical assault and attempted rape. It may not be the outcome that is just, but he will be behind bars. And what's the alternative if we let the case go?"

"He's free," I said.

"James is a free man," he said, nodding; and hearing the words like that chilled me to the marrow of my bones.

"I'm doing it," I said. "I'll do it."

Randall nodded as if he was expecting that answer. "Now, listen, there's more. The defense gave away a large part, if not all, of their argument at the preliminary hearing. I'm taking this as a desperate act for a dismissal, or to press us into offering the plea bargain they're looking for. Neither happened. They're sweating, Isabella. Don't think they're not sweating."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying we make another plea offer that would drop one of the charges. It would be more of a guarantee for a shorter sentence."

"Which charge?" Edward asked.

"Assault. Through trial, the assault charge could mean an additional five to eight years in prison. So, Isabella, by dropping this charge, it guarantees him a shorter sentence."

"How much shorter? I mean, what will he face?"

"A minimum of six years."

I sat back in my chair, once again feeling defeated.

"That's minimum," Randall said. "Maximum is twenty-five. They'll be hoping for minimum - we _want_ them to hope for that, so they'll accept. We'll be hoping for maximum."

That felt better. Twenty-five felt much better. I sat forward again; Edward took my hand in both of his.

"Bella? What are you thinking?" Edward asked.

"No trial this way, Isabella, and he still gets punished," said Randall. "On top of which, he spends a lifetime as a registered sexual offender."

I agreed to the plea arrangement, which I was later told, it really wouldn't have mattered if I agreed or not. The case was in the hands of The State. It was out of courtesy that Randall explained it to me, even perhaps pretending a little that I had some say in it.

I'd been boomeranged back into the waiting game again. It was hard to sit still at home. As the first day went by, I decided this time I would keep myself in life instead of hiding from it. Any free time my mind had to wander, and wonder about court, I spent sorting through photographs. I framed some of Edward and me, decorating the apartment with us. I started a scrapbook of our relationship: photos of us at The Lounge, in the apartment, in the park, some he'd taken of just me or I'd taken of just him. I wouldn't allow myself to fall away from the world out of fear. Or push Edward away.

In fact, when Edward was home, he helped me. He brought out photos that we'd taken with the disposable camera the day we toured New York. I ran to my Chaucer for the theater tickets I kept tucked between the pages. Edward tore from his sketchbook the drawing he'd made of our twining bare feet that day we lay in the park, and added it to the book.

He'd told me I inspired him that day as he nudged me, interrupting my reading, to show me that sketch for the first time.

When the scrapbook was complete, we looked through it from beginning to end. Seated on the sofa, we laid it out over our laps, slow to turn each page. At one point I took a page and flipped it back and forth between one page and the next, moving my face closer for a better look.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked.

"Checking something out." In both the last picture of us before James had changed our lives, and the first picture after, I was smiling. And no matter how close I scrutinized each picture, my smile looked the same in both, all the way from my eyes to my mouth.

"What?"

"I look the same in both pictures."

He turned my face toward him. "You still look the same." He smiled. "Beautiful."

Edward and I decided that if it came down to a trial, we'd spend every waiting day trying some place new in the city. I would see just how big Manhattan was. We'd never have to go to the same place twice, he said.

On Thursday, which would've typically been my therapy session day, I sat in on a group therapy meeting. I'd heard of group many times since that first day at the hospital, and what Rosalie had told me about herself struck a strong chord with me. She got me in.

Behind a wall of windows, there were five of us rape survivors in the room, seated in a circle on big, comfortable chairs, not hard plastic or metal ones. A therapist, a woman much older than Rosalie with graying hair and big round glasses introduced the theme of this meeting. I was watching her rather than listening to her. She was nothing like Rosalie - too cold, and she looked down her nose at us. When she finished her lecture, she opened the room up to discussion, and all she really did at that point was direct the conversation. There was a clipboard on her lap that she occasionally jotted notes on.

I didn't speak; I listened.

One woman was visibly worse off than me, while another was about as pulled together as Rosalie. One spoke of how even in her own home she didn't feel safe. Another said that she had to hide somewhere else in her mind in order to have sex, and then, she just waited it out. Waited for it to finish, like it was a chore she had to get through.

I couldn't fathom how group was supposed to be effective. My anger was boiling over, beginning with the tensing of my toes, as I thought that, like me, these women were once one way and were now another way. I wanted to throw something. I could have thrown all the chairs at once.

I very nearly ran out of there; that place that wasn't for me. But then a young girl said something that knocked the wind out of me.

She hardly appeared eighteen, and very quietly, in her timid whisper of a voice, behind a screen of blonde hair as her head fell forward, she said: "Even when I'm in a crowded room, I feel so isolated."

I wanted to go to her, take her in my arms, stroke her hair, squeeze her, and tell her, "Me, too. Me, too." This teenager made a statement that explained how I'd felt most of the time, but could never accurately put into words.

I wanted to help her. Even if I never returned for me, I'd return for her. And I think it's only then - when you see someone you want to help and believe that you might actually be of some help to that person - it is only then that you realize how much helping someone else might help you.

~::::::~

It was the next morning when the phone call from Randall came. Edward and I had been sitting on the floor flipping through the scrapbook again.

"Isabella, do you have some time?"

I told him I did, and found myself moving to the sofa. Something in my voice or behavior grabbed Edward's attention and he joined me. I held the phone so that he could hear, too.

"We were able to reach an agreement."

"An agreement?"

"A plea agreement." I knew what he meant, but I needed it clarified.

"Wait - you mean, does that mean...?"

"James is pleading guilty."

I wanted to jump up and down. I wanted to throw my arms around Edward. I wanted to scream out. But something prevented me: Denial.

Even with Edward's hand squeezing my arm, there was denial.

"So that means…" My voice seemed to expand in my throat and I could barely get it out. It was a wonder Randall heard me.

"He's agreed to plead guilty to first degree rape, Isabella. He's going to prison and you won't have to face a trial. There won't be a trial," he repeated. "James will be sentenced next week. The documents have been signed by James and his attorney."

"Can you hold on for just a second?"

I set the phone down and looked at Edward. His eyes were glassy. There was a grin on his face that was growing. Mine followed as the news sank in. When I felt it all the way in my toenails and in my fingertips, even in the ends of my hair, my arms were around Edward's neck, holding tight. I was crying. I sobbed. The sobs were relief. Every single one. Finally relief. With each sob I felt lighter. I'd had no idea how heavy I'd been until I began lightening with every sob. If Edward let me go, I was sure I'd float to the ceiling.

"Edward," I said, my voice muffled in his shoulder.

"I know," he whispered.

"Edward."

"I know!" He lifted me a little and dropped me to my feet again, but didn't let go.

"Edward!" I pulled back to meet his eyes, which were smiling through held-back tears. I caught a slight quiver in his chin. I felt my own tears dripping toward my smile, but I didn't wipe them away. They were the best tears. I would've saved them in a jar if I could. I was sure they'd glow like fireflies. Edward wiped my tears.

"No," I said, stopping his hand and then kissing his fingers where the wetness was. I kissed there over and over. I didn't care if I looked crazy. This was a crazy I could live with. This was a crazy I craved.

My insides were whirling and swirling. I felt like Rosalie's dog. I understood him now.

Edward laughed, pulling me against him again, lifting me and my legs wrapped his waist. He kissed me as he walked us to the bedroom. Once there, he set me on my feet and his kisses turned cautious, like questions. And my kisses were the answers he was hoping for. He pulled my shirt off and his hands were on me.

He made careful love to me, first backing me up as we kissed and then lifting me to the bed. My pants were off and then his, too.

Warm and gentle, his hands traveled my body. His lips followed, and his kisses struck me as different. He swept kisses across my stomach, but there was no tongue involved. None at all. These kisses he was giving me were purely out of love, not lust. Still, goose bumps rose all over me.

"You," he said, as if savoring me. I savored him right back.

Hovering over me, he paused, looking into my eyes.

And then it was almost slow-motion, the way we moved. Or maybe it just felt that way. We were floating.

Afterwards I was on my way to sleep. I felt my mind blanking, traveling through darkness, but his voice brought me out of it.

"Tell me you love me."

I smiled, my eyes opening to find Edward looking at me. "I love you."

"What was that, Miss Bella?"

"I said I love you, Mr. Edward."

"I didn't quite hear you. One more time?"

"Marry me," I said, and laughed.

He laughed, too. He pulled me on top of him, laughing. He hadn't expected that.

"Anytime," he said, kissing me, and this was a rough, lip-smashing kiss, nothing slow or soft about it. "Mmm." He kissed me some more. "Why do you always taste so good?"

"Only to entice you into tasting me."

"It works." He licked across my cheek bone, making me laugh all over again. But then he turned us over so he was looking down at me, and he got all serious.

"Bella." He swept hair from my face. "It's over."

I nodded.

"It's over," he said again.

"It's hard to believe."

He told me he loved me. He kissed me. And then I shot up, Edward falling away from me.

"Oh my god! Oh, no!" I started laughing a little and covered my mouth. "Oh… no."

"What?" He was smiling and frowning at the same time. "What?"

"I left Randall on hold!" I laughed again. "I'm so rude."

"I'm sure he got over it. I'm sure he's hung up by now." But Edward couldn't help but laugh with me.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you're thinking with a review. :)

Hi, new readers. How did you hear about/find this story? Just curious.

We have one more chapter left and then a mini epilogue. I'm so sad to see this story end. I'll miss these guys. I found myself in tears when I wrote the last line the other day. (Not because of the line, but because this story is so close to my heart.)

I also wanted to share some info I came across during research. I read that 90% of criminal cases end in a plea agreement. I couldn't find statistics regarding rape cases because the information I found regarding this varied by state. It's quite a controversial thing though, because many times the plea bargain on a rape case means lowering the charge from first degree rape. It's sad that this happens so often, but at the same time, the woman doesn't have to face a trial and the man does go to prison.

I've been replying to every signed review, so if you want a reply, make sure your private messaging is turned on.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N**: There will be no author's note at the end of this chapter, as I want this story to end quietly. However, a short afterward will be posted soon, and I might have a too-long a/n posted under that with a trillion thanks to my readers!

* * *

The Other Side of Me

Chapter 33

I was not required to be at the sentencing. Attending was my choice.

Edward questioned me that morning for about half a second: why wouldn't I just wait for Randall to tell me the outcome? But all Edward had to do was see the determination in my face to understand.

Still, I answered, "Your dream last night, for one thing."

James had shadowed his dream, another nightmare, and Edward awoke before the sun was up. "I should've killed him," he'd said, which woke me up.

Turning in the dark, I'd put my arms around him. Inching closer, he planted a kiss on the side of my neck and slept there, between my shoulder and my chin.

We would go to the sentencing, he agreed.

Before we entered, while the courtroom door was still closed, I spun around in the courthouse hallway, causing Edward to bump into me. I asked him if he was okay to go in. He assured me that he was .

"You don't want to kill him?"

"Of course I _want_ to, Bella. He hurt you in the worst possible way." He took hold of my fingers. "But I'm not going to do anything. I'm under control, promise. I'm here for you, not to make things worse. He's going to prison, and that's more than I can ask for." He kissed the bridge of my nose as if to show he was okay, no problem, easy. I kissed his lips to show him I loved him, easy.

This courtroom was smaller and fewer people were there, but it was just as bright, awash in artificial light, as the last one. I greeted Randall at the front with a hug and a thank you. Edward took a seat on the bench directly behind me.

I'd been told that James had the right to address the court on his behalf, and I also had that right.

I wasn't afraid to look at James this time. His hair was cut short just as I'd suspected. It was the same haircut he'd worn when I first met him outside the Masens' house.

A tie choked his throat. Maybe he thought a tie would make him appear more honorable; maybe his attorney suggested it, as if looking the part made him an all right guy, made him innocent. James faced straight ahead; I only got a side view. I wanted to call his name. I wanted him to look at me. But I knew he wouldn't.

Edward must have noticed where my stare was directed, his hand massaging my shoulder. I turned.

"He won't look at me," I whispered.

Our foreheads rested together, Edward's thumb caressing my cheek. His touch was as soft as it was strong. "He knows what he's done, Bella."

The judge, different from the one at the preliminary hearing, was a small black man with a long, slender face and a head half gray and half bald. Glasses, perched on his forehead, were only brought down to his eyes when he had something to read. When Judge Geer spoke, his voice did not match his appearance. It sounded bigger than he was, his tone firm and absolute. He gave the impression that, small man that he was, his word was the final say. And it would be.

James was ordered to stand as his charges were read to him. Before the judge gave him his sentence, both James and his attorney spoke.

Mr. Laurent requested that the judge consider minimal sentencing due to the fact that his client, who admittedly made a huge mistake, was repentant, seeking psychological help, and this was a first time offense. He'd never so much as received a speeding ticket before.

I wondered what traffic violations had to do with human and bodily violations. Do people argue against speeding tickets because they've never raped anyone before? I felt sick.

James stood as he spoke, his hands hanging down in front of him. His wrists may have been held together by handcuffs, but I couldn't tell from my angle.

"Your honor," he said, the first words I'd heard him speak since he'd told me he'd make me feel good. His voice sounded the same as it always had - confident, bold. But as he continued to speak, his confidence clearly began to melt away. "I was in denial for months over what I'd done to Bell- to her - to my friend, Isabella Swan."

My full name sounded wrong coming from his lips. The sound of it made me want to spit.

"But once I admitted it to myself, coming clean was the only thing that made me feel right and I turned myself in. Seeing how broken she was, your honor. Knowing I did that to her, sir - your honor, is the worst punishment I could face. And even if it means nothing at all to her or the court, I am _sorry_ for my actions and what I did to my, one of my closest friends. I'm ready to face responsibility for my actions."

How could that be true? If James had wanted to confess from the beginning, why hadn't he waived the preliminary hearing? As the defendant, he had that right. No, instead he put me through further hell. Like Randall had suggested, he must have been hoping for a plea bargain, or better, getting the case dismissed. Even if the chance for a dismissal was slim and he knew it, there was that slight chance that the prosecution might mess up in some way and the judge might have dismissed the case.

I hoped the judge would take all of this into consideration when weighing how much of what James said he could believe.

And something else James had said wouldn't release itself from where it was tightening around my heart. He'd said he'd broken me, and that was his worst punishment. He'd seen me on the stand, he'd seen how affected I was, but he hadn't seen how I'd gone on living, how I'd gone on loving. My lungs felt as though they were growing inside of me. I had to speak up. I couldn't let James think he had any kind of power over my life. Though I had given him power for months, he did not have to know that. My suffering would not be his worst punishment. Prison would. I whispered to Randall that I wanted to speak. I didn't even ask myself if I could. It was in me. I was going to do it. There was no question.

I was directed to a podium facing the judge. James was on the left side of the room.

Judge Geer, glasses crowning his head, gave me a nod.

"Your honor, I just want to remind you that James ran away and hid for five months, and it took a plea agreement to get him to confess. He told me a lot of things, made a lot of promises over the course of our friendship. I trusted him with my _life_. But he raped me. He put his hand over my mouth and told me I would like it. I don't believe a word he says, and never will again."

I paused; my anger was growing inside and I had to keep it rational. Even with the urge to turn toward Edward, I refused to avert my eyes from the judge. I would stand firm, and tall. I'd stand like Rosalie.

"I have something else to say, but it's more to James than the court." I asked permission to address James. The judge said it would be fine.

I turned to James, who was still staring straight ahead.

"James," I said. He didn't turn. I wanted him to look into my eyes. "James, look at me."

Slowly he brought his eyes up to mine. They were the blue eyes I'd been seeing in my mind for months, but they were too far away to see clearly. From here, they looked dull. His face was clean shaven, and aside from the change I noted in his eyes, he looked the same as always. He looked like my old friend.

A flood of memories poured through me in my few seconds' pause before I spoke. I remembered his smile; his eyes before they turned angry; his sense of humor; his energy, so much of it, it infected others; his sarcasm; his friendship with Edward; his cooking; his aspirations; his potential; his thoughtfulness when we took the subway or shared a cab ride, offering me the first seat; how when we split a cab we never really split it - he paid; his ponytail; the first time he called me Little B; how he and Edward deemed me _Our Girl_; the way he made fun of me on our road trip to New York when I insisted on driving because it was my turn, fueling myself with caffeine no matter how tired I was; the way he made fun of Edward when the conversation turned serious, always shying away from male bonding; how I kicked him or hit him when he irritated me and how he laughed. I remembered his laugh, head held back, mouth wide, laughing all the way into the clouds. James. Why did you do this to all of us?

Some part of me wanted to cry, but in this moment, my determination to stand tall was stronger than my pain. I felt myself grow like a sunflower under the noon sky, my shoulders back and square.

"You hurt me."

He was stone-faced.

"You hurt me more than anyone ever has," I said, and he gave a single, affirmative nod, "but you did _not_ break me."

Tears fell from his eyes, which only angered me more. What was he crying for? Relief? Pain? My pain? He couldn't have my pain. A hand touched my lower back and I knew without looking that it was Edward's hand.

"I could never be broken. I have too many wonderful people in my life." I reached back for Edward's fingers. "What do you have?"

The answer was all over the courtroom; it was with the judge; it was with the police officer who stood close to James; it was in the handcuffs that the policeman held, that I'd recognized were not yet around James's wrists. And I thought, then, perhaps that was why he was crying. What he had was no choices and no control. His fate lay with someone else. His freedom was already gone.

James let his eyes drift over my shoulder to Edward, and I followed his gaze. The look in Edward's eyes was not pain, nor anger, nor murder, but smugness. The look on Edward's face communicated to James that James was getting exactly what was coming to him. As James watched, Edward leaned down to kiss my head right at my hairline. His lips lingered a little while, then, with an arm around my shoulder, he walked me back to my seat and retook his.

And then it was the judge's turn. What he would say might trump what I'd said ten times over, but nothing could compare to me taking my moment to face James, and without wavering, bracing myself, or crying.

Judge Geer adjusted his glasses on his head, cleared his throat and aimed an intense stare on James.

"You are a big man," he said with his big voice. "I look at Miss Swan and I don't have to stretch my mind to imagine how _easy_ it would have been for you to overtake her. What does give my mind a workout, though, is when I try to imagine how in this world you or your counsel can truly believe you deserve a minimal sentence." He squinted his eyes at James, as if to show how hard he was trying to imagine this. "I think you would both agree that in your violation of Miss Swan, she did not receive the mercy she so deserved." He looked away from James and his next words addressed the court.

"Many adjectives come to mind when describing the act of rape: shameful, disgraceful, horrifying, humiliating, devastating - I could go on. Yet none of these words, not singularly or strung together, could even begin to properly convey the true nature of this heinous crime, this _abysmal_ violation of a woman's dignity."

His attention back on James, Judge Geer announced his sentencing. James would face eighteen years.

Eighteen years, with a non-parole period of sixteen years.

Eighteen years.

James would be forty-six before he would be free again, if you could call it that. I'd be forty-one. A newborn now would be an adult.

Upon hearing the sentence I was compelled to leave the courtroom. There was nothing more for me to hear or see. I stood, took Edward's hand, and we headed for our exit. My eyes fell briefly over James, who had turned toward us. The police officer took hold of James's elbow. Edward and I left the courtroom. I'm not sure how long James watched us walk away, not sure if he watched us at all, as we walked into our freedom while he was being led right into his shackles.

And free I was.

I had just witnessed something die back there.

When I'd told James he didn't break me, I'd felt how true that was. He bruised me, he hurt me, he caused me grief and sleepless nights. But I was never broken.

I placed both my arms around Edward's waist. I loved the way the wind felt in my hair, the cold breeze on my face, the air so brisk it might snow. I welcomed it all. Even under the overcast sky, it felt like the sun was beaming down on us.

"What do you want to do?" Edward asked. "This feels strange, doesn't it? I've never felt this before. It's like we can do anything."

It was just Edward and me. People passed by unnoticed. I only know that they were there because it was New York.

"We can," I said.

"Then answer. What do you want to do?"

"Get a plant."

"A _plant_?"I heard the laugh in his voice as he squeezed me so close and hard that my feet left the ground.

"Yeah, well, it's green, life, new birth, change, growth. Need I explain more?"

"No, it makes perfect sense." He kissed my temple.

"Plus, I hear plants respond well to kind noises and loving environments. We can show it what love sounds like."

"Let's go get a plant."

I turned back for a moment from where we'd just come, the immense, pillared courthouse, the past, James, the last five months. That was all behind us. We didn't speak then of the sentencing or James. He'd had enough of our attention for too long now.

James was gone.

I finally, and genuinely, felt my own strength. I was strong. I knew it, and nobody could convince me differently.

This is why women like me and Rosalie are called survivors. We'd been through what the judge had called a heinous and abysmal violation, and came out the other side alive.

To feel weak, to feel _un_strong, is an illusion created by our violators. They are master magicians over our minds. We do not have to relinquish our true selves over to them.

This is what Rosalie had guided me to learn, and on my own, through my experiences, I learned it.

~:::::::::~

Edward and I brought our plant home, one with variegated leaves, and we placed it by the far living room window, which got the most natural light, and we watered it and fed it and babied it.

When our friends came over we showed it to them, and they complimented it, because what else could they do as we smiled our proud smiles toward our plant?

Rosalie was the only one who recognized the plant for what it was; more than the representation of growth and change, it represented how I had once viewed myself in comparison to my new self-understanding. When I'd told Rosalie about James's sentence and what I'd said to him in court that day, there were tears, and they hadn't come from me. With a streaked face she'd hugged me, congratulated me and told me how proud she was of me.

Emmett stayed in New York from then on. Maybe he didn't want to leave after he'd learned about Rosalie. Maybe he moved to New York because of love. Maybe it had been his plan all along. I never asked.

I would continue group therapy. I kept surprising myself with how much advice I had to share. I'd tell some women that holding on to their anger and fear does nothing to help them. All it does is give their attackers more power to continue their parade of harm over them. I'd tell them to turn their anger into determination. Keep going. "Move forward," I'd say, as Rosalie had once told me. Some of them would look at me as the enemy. Some of them, for one reason or another, would leave group and never come back. Others would remain and I'd see them grow and change before my eyes.

I'd run my insurance dry as far as therapy was concerned. Group therapy was cheaper than individual therapy, and though I could never replace what Rosalie had taught me, group could do more for me now. Rosalie said she would always be there to support me as a friend. Our official doctor-patient relationship was over. But I'd gained a friend, and she said so did she.

~::::::~

Only a few days after we'd brought our plant home, Edward and I were fruit shopping in the small market around the corner. On our exit, Edward stopped before the door, set his grocery bag on the floor, and slipped two quarters into one of those toy machines. This one was releasing rings that came in little plastic egg-shaped containers. He turned the dial and when he bent down to scoop it out of the machine, he didn't get back up. He turned, opened the container, and slipped a ring made of aluminum and painted aquamarine onto my finger. He asked me to be his wife.

Edward would tell me later that he took my in-bed, spontaneous "marry me" seriously. And while I hadn't planned to say it, I had been serious. As Edward kept asking me to repeat that I loved him, I wanted to show him just how much I did.

Now, before he'd give me the chance to ask him officially, he wanted to ask me officially.

I said I would marry him, of course, even if I had to wear a toy ring on my index finger because it was too big for my ring finger. Edward's whole face smiled as he lifted me around my waist into his arms. It was a proposal and an answer that was accompanied with our laughter and the applause of strangers - much like his first pretend proposal in the coffee house.

We were a little more oblivious this time, in a bubble of just Edward and me that matched the toy ring container, so we were surprised that anyone else was still around when a woman tapped my shoulder.

"I took your picture," she said. "If you give me your address, I'll send it to you."

She followed through and sent the picture of Edward kneeling, holding a toy ring, and both of us smiling at each other. There was laughter in our faces, shopping baskets stacked beside us, and a row of toy and gumball machines behind Edward. It was perfect. I added that picture to my scrapbook - a page that would become my favorite. Sometimes, I wouldn't even look through the book, I would just turn to that page. And then I'd gaze at the toy ring on my finger, followed by my pinky ring - two very different tiny bits of metal that both meant the world to me.

Edward and I loved to repeat our proposal story. Friends would laugh as though we were making it up until I showed them my ring. In the end I'd say, just as I'd first said it to Jessica, "The truth is, we proposed to each other."

~::::::~

Over winter break, Edward and I didn't go to Hawaii. We would go someday, but now was the time for family. We left the snow-ploughed streets of New York for the less-ploughed streets of Forks. My dad picked us up at the airport, stopping to add chains to his tires as flakes fell over him just outside of our home town. My dad seemed to have a permanent smile on his face, having me around again. And while he didn't necessarily look younger, he looked less old.

At the Masens' house, it was the biggest Christmas my dad and I had ever experienced. Of course I'd met Edward's parents, Elizabeth and Edward Senior, many times, but they were always Alice's parents back then. This was the first time I'd meet them as my fiancé's parents.

They hugged me and welcomed me in their living room next to their Christmas tree, all white, as if brought right in from the snowy outside, and lit up in front of the laced-curtained window.

In front of that tree, Alice and Jasper announced their wedding date. They'd get married in May, and Edward and I decided to wait until after their wedding to set a date of our own.

We weren't in a rush to get married; we'd already been living the rest of our lives together the moment we'd started dating.

None of us talked about anything that had to do with James. I'd like to pretend that none of us even thought about that situation. There were other things to talk about and think about.

Their mother was all over Alice's wedding, planning the whole thing out, throwing her carefully coiffed curls over her shoulder, taking notes, driving Alice crazy.

"Maybe an elopement is a good idea," Edward said to me, his lips against my ear, his arms wrapping my waist from behind. I laughed at both the statement and the tickle. I pushed my head closer to his lips, and he turned his whisper into a kiss. There was the slightest hint of his tongue, followed by a stirring in the lowest part of my stomach.

My dad's smiling eyes caught us and I felt my cheeks redden. Leaning up against the far wall near the curio cabinet that held a porcelain collection, he winked at me, tossing his beer back. He was always more comfortable holding onto a bottle rather than a glass. Dressed in his uniform, he'd just come from work. While he'd had Thanksgiving off, this police chief had to work on Christmas day.

"Maybe we just won't tell your mom anything until the invitations are sent," I said, but not quietly enough. Alice's laugh was loud.

"God! If only I had your brain," she said.

Jasper saved the evening from further wedding drama by turning the subject to snow: he loved it since in the Bay Area, he never saw it. Edward Senior groaned and complained - how would Jasper like to shovel thirty feet of snow all winter long?

So now instead of wedding drama there was some father Masen and Jasper drama. Jasper's grin showed it didn't bother him, and Alice's smirk showed it was better this than wedding talk.

Jasper was no longer a trigger for me. In fairness, I was expecting all six foot three of him, the blond hair and the blue eyes. I was ready for him, and had reached up to hug him with no problem.

Edward still had no clue that Jasper was the anonymous painting purchaser, and Alice couldn't hold the secret in any longer.

She pulled Edward - who pulled me along by our linked fingers - down next to her on the sofa, crossing her feet over the coffee table.

"Edward, take a look at these pictures and tell me which we should use for our engagement announcement." She mumbled so the word "engagement" couldn't travel to her mother's ears. Edward shuffled through the photos, and on the last one his eyes widened and he bent forward. In the photo, Alice and Jasper were standing in their dining room in front of the painting. Edward laughed and hid his face.

"No," he said. "No."

"Yes." Alice scruffed up his hair. "Do you really believe we haven't announced our engagement in the paper yet?"

Edward's eyes came to a quick landing on mine with a look that affirmed James wasn't the one who had bought the painting.

I nodded. Neither of us would bring James into the conversation verbally, though we knew how to speak of him with our eyes.

Edward brought his hand to my bare leg and inched it a little way up my thigh. He didn't go so far as to push at the hem of my dress, or even slightly move his fingers underneath. There were still things we had to be cautious about.

My dad raised his beer bottle and proposed a toast. Elizabeth rushed around the living room in a fluster to make sure everyone had a full glass of champagne.

"Wait, now, Charlie, wait." She topped everyone off, then gave him the go ahead with a wave of her hand.

My dad laughed before he spoke, possibly because of all the trouble Elizabeth went through for his fairly simple toast: "To growing families and continued health!"

If his toast wasn't enough to do it, his wide smile was contagious. All of our faces matched his, and any drama - wedding, snow, Jasper, or Edward Senior - was fast forgotten.

Our glasses all clinked, Edward Senior moving around the room saying, "Hear, hear," making sure his tapped everyone's. He tapped Jasper's glass twice.

I put my hand on Edward's thigh, not being at all careful about how high it went. I pressed my hand, giving a little squeeze. "I love this. Let's have more Christmases like this one."

"All of them," he said, his champagne-chilled lips against the side of my neck. Goosebumps rose.

~::::::~

I often asked myself the same question I had once posed to Rosalie. Did I get over my rape?

I don't have an answer. I don't know what it feels like to_ get over_ something. What I do know is that as time went on, James fell further and further away in my mind. And every day of my life, that distance will continue to grow. Someday he'll become nothing but a speck. And really, what can a speck do?

In less than a year, I'd been through hell and attempted to claw my way out.

I'd spent many months and so much effort just trying to hold on to me that I failed to recognize I'd been me all along. All I had to do was recognize it.

There wasn't one side of me and another side of me; there was just the whole combination of me. I would never be the same as I'd been before my rape, nor would I be the same as a few months ago, or a week ago, or even yesterday. I was somebody newer now, and at the same time, I was still me. What James had done, it may have played a big part in shaping who I was, but it wasn't even close to being everything.

I was a woman who was raped, a woman who was loved and who loved, a woman who was scared, and who was brave, who laughed, who cried. I was a daughter, a fiancee, a friend, a writer, a fighter, a dreamer, an achiever, and a survivor.

I learned to see myself, face myself, and free myself - learned to walk without blinking right into the sun and wind and rain of life.

I was a million different things.

I was Bella.


	34. Afterward

Thank you to myimm0rtal for her fabulous beta work and support, to my readers, and Stephenie Meyer for creating such memorable characters!

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The Other Side of Me

Afterward

A letter from James arrived about eleven months after he was locked up. It took me three years and a move to another New York apartment just to open the envelope, and then another year went by before I could bring myself to read it.

In our apartment, there was a home, a marriage, kisses that spoke more promises than words, a real art studio, a writing desk set up in a living room nook, several plants, but no children.

Edward gone, arranging his new paintings in Marcus's gallery, I opened the small drawer under my laptop, laid my fingers on top of the torn and tattered envelope for the hundredth or so odd time, lifted it and slipped the letter out.

The lined paper inside was cold.

With closed eyes, I unfolded it.

Opening my eyes, I recognized James's handwriting before I recognized any of the words on the page. And then, eyes in focus, I allowed myself to read.

_Dear Bella,_

_I've been advised to write you a letter of apology and to be honest about my feelings. It's supposed to be an important step in my treatment, even if you never read it. I'm going to write that letter, but that isn't the letter I'll be sending you. I'm going to send you this shorter version. I'm going to tell you the only thing I think you could possibly want to read._

_You'll never see me again. Even when I get out of here, you'll never see me again._

_James._

He had underlined never. When reading it, I could hear the voice of the old James. I hadn't thought about him that way - as the "old James" - since the day of his sentencing.

Can I say that I believed him, even with the voice of the old James, even with the underlined _never_? I can't. What I can say is: I tried.

Edward found me sitting on the bed with the letter folded in my hand. He kissed me hello and I gave him the letter.

"It's the one from James," I said so he wouldn't be surprised when he opened it. "I finally read it."

Edward's fingertips came to my face, drawing my eyes to his. "And you're okay?"

With a deep breath I nodded.

After Edward read the letter, I replaced it in the envelope, and then into the drawer.

"We'll never understand him, Bella."

I rejoined him on the bed. "He's on a different plane. It's like that drawing, that M.C. Escher drawing, Relativity? The one with all the different staircases facing different directions leading to different places, some sideways, some upside down. It's like you and I are ascending together in one direction and he's descending upside down or sideways."

Edward lifted my chin, exposing my neck, and snail-slow, he brought his lips to the side of my throat where James had kissed me. Edward kissed me in that spot several times in a row. I closed my eyes, and there was no James. It was something we'd silently been working on for a long time now, and little by little, I'd taught myself to get through it without cringing, and without having to remind myself this was Edward's mouth on me. Still, it didn't feel good, didn't arouse me at all. He moved his mouth slightly away from that spot, a new part of my neck, never touched by James, a place that would bring stirrings to my body, and I felt his tongue before he spoke.

"The only thing sexier than you, is you talking about art." There was a smile in his voice. He was leaning on me, lips pressing, and I fell back to the bed.

Later that evening, I began to read through my old journals from that time period in my life half a decade ago, and decided I was ready to type it all out in one cohesive-as-can-be manuscript.

The next and last time I would read James's letter was a few minutes ago as I typed it myself, word for word.

I remember an interview with an author who was asked if she believed writing could be therapeutic. She said that if it could be, she hoped authors wouldn't use their writing that way - not the writing they put into print for publishing, anyway.

Now, as I finish up these last few sentences, I wonder if I am guilty of using my authorial work as therapy. I didn't begin my story for therapeutic reasons; I began it so that I could share my story with others, perhaps offer help, or let others like me feel less alone, but it had proved to be therapeutic in the end. And I can't regret that.

While writing this, some events were copied word for word from my journals, while some were pressed from the farthest corners of my memory to the center, the front, through my chest to my arms, all the way to my typing fingers. What a huge step it is to go from wanting to forget everything that had happened to_ trying_ to remember.

I have done, and will continue to do, several re-readings of my story before I send it to my editor. And with every read it becomes a little easier to stomach. This tells me that healing is a life-long process, and since my life isn't over yet, neither is my healing.

While I have understood all that I am for a long time now, there are still things to work on: trusting men, a flashback here and there, the need to remind myself with unexpected knocks at the door that James will not be the one on the other side. I still have moments of double and triple checking locked doors, moments of a flash of a tall blond man on the street that make my heartbeat race, that heat up my face and have me grounding myself in my surroundings. But it all occurs much more seldom.

Edward once promised me that James would not be such a constant part of my life, and I'd asked him how he could make such a promise. His answer was that he knew I would never give up.

He was right. James is no longer constant, and I will still never give up.

It would be easy to place the last period at the end of the last sentence in this manuscript and call it the end. But it isn't the end. No matter where I am, I always have my whole future ahead of me. My survival, my life, continues…

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**A/N**: First I want to thank every reader who gave this story a try and stuck through this with me, and for all the recs! And I also want to thank those of you who shared your own personal survival stories with me. It means a lot to me that you opened up, and my heart goes out to you.

I took on a very sensitive subject, wanting to give it a realistic approach, while at the same time keeping it a fanfiction with canon characteristics. Through the process of writing this, it grew into something so much bigger than I ever thought it would be. The responses that I received kept reminding me what a huge responsibility I was taking on, and I appreciate that so much. It kept me on track throughout. I had to do this subject justice the best way I could. I can only hope that I accomplished my goal of giving this story the respect it deserves.

Also, the healing techniques used by Bella in this story are actual techniques used in therapy. However, I'm not a therapist and I cannot attest to these techniques being used in the exact ways Rosalie and Bella used them.

I've had a few readers ask if I'm working on another story, and the answer is yes! I have at least the first drafts of fifteen chapters, and an outline for over twenty. I expect to post the first chapter by next week. So if you're interested in trying it out, be sure to add me to author alerts to get a message when the chapter is posted. I'll also be posting it over at A Different Forest, where I've recently been hanging out a lot. The beautiful, myimm0rtal is on board again for beta and pre-reading.

Feel free to follow me on twitter for more updates and sometimes random tweets: believeitornott

Thanks again for reading! You all have done tons for my confidence and to help improve my writing! :)


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